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THE 



MONTHLY REVIEW 



FROM 



MAY TO AUGUST INCLUSIVE, 



1826. 



WITH AN rAPPENDIX, 



VOL. n. 



NEW AND IBfPROVEO 8ERIE4. 



« 



r « 






LONDON: 
PRINTED FOR CHARLES KNIGHT, 

13, PALL-MALL EAST. 
1826. 



^%..^\ 



LONDON : 

pail \ AND J. B. PLINOKI.L, 67, BT. MARTIN* 8- LANR. 



CONTENTS. 



Srabpb on tbe Coventry Myiteries I 

Discontenta in Ragsia 12 

DenhaiD and Clapperton'i Expedition to Africa . . .16 

Blount's MSS 32 

The French Obituary for 1824 39 

Anne Boleyn; a Dramatic Poem. By the Rev. H. H. Milroan 5'i 
Travels in Nomay, Sweden, &C. By W. Rae Wilson, Eaq. . 69 
Woodstock ; a Tale. By the Author of "Wavcrley" . . 73 
Foder4 on the Poverty of Nations . ' . . .96 

Sberidaniana lOS 

The Approach of the Deluge ; a Sacred Poem . . .111 
The Plain Spefiker: Opinions on Booka, Men, and Things . 113 
The Last of the Mohicans; a Narrative of 17^7. Py the 

Author of "TheBpy,''"'nie Pilot," 4c, .; '. . 122 

Historical Researches Oti the Wan and Spofb of the Monguls 
and Romans : irijRriiich' Elef)hantp and WS^^easte were 
employed or slain. Ifith a Hap and Ten^Tlates. By 
John RanUng ... . li, .131 

The Forest Sanctuary ; and other Poems. By Mrs. Hemans 139 
History of the Commonwealth of England, from its Commence- 
ment to the Restoration of Charles the Second. By WiP 

liam Godwin, Vol. II 14G 

Le Pantcha-Tantra ; ou, les Cinq Ruses, Fables du Brahme 

Vjchnou Sarma ; Aventures de Paramarta, et autres 

Contes, le tout traduit, pour la premiere fois, sur le^Ori- 

ginaux Indiens. Par M. L'Abbe J. A. Dubois . . 163 

Sketches of Portuguese Life, Manners, Costume, and Character. 

By A.P. D. C 167 

The Martyr; a Drama. By Joanna Baillie . . . .174 
Travels and Adventurers in the Persian Provinces on the 
Southern Banks of the Caspian Sea. With an Appendix. 
By James B. Fras^ . .' ^ . . 185 



Memoirs of the Court of Henry the Eighth. By Mrs. A. T. 

ThomaoD 195 

Narrative of a Tour through HawaiqWOwbyhee. By William 

Ellis, Missionary from the Society and Sandwich Islands 203 
Narrative of the Surrender of Buonaparte, and of his Residence 

on board H. M. S. Bellerophon. By Captain F. L. Mait- 

land, C. B 315 

An Historical Outline of the Greek Revolution. ByW. M. 

Leake, late Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Artillery . 221 
Epistles to a friend in Tovtn, Golconda's F^te, and other Poems. 

By Chandos Leigh, Esq 222 

Parliamentary History and Review 223 

Spence's Inquiry into the Origin of the Laws and Political In- 

stitutioQs of Modem Europe, particularly those of England 225 

The Life and Correspondence of Major Cartwright , . 235 

1. M'Donnell on Free Trade 248 

2. Mr. HuskisBon'a Speech on Mr. EUice's Motion for a Com- 

mittee to inquire into the State of the Silk Trade . . jb. 

Swan's Voyage up the Mediterranean 261 

The Contest of the Twelve Nations 271 

Mrs. Radcliffe's Posthumous Works 280 

The Life and Timw of Frederick Reynolds .... 293 
A Tour through Jamdca. By C. R, Williams . .307 
The Princess Lamballe's Secret Memoirs of the Court of France, 

during the Revolution . 314 

Remarks on the supposed Dionysius Longinus . . , 326 

Freeman's Sketches in Wales 328 

Vivian Grey 329 

The Labours of Idleness 330 

William Douglas : or, the Scottish Exiles . . .331 

Rejected Articles 332 

Tales round a Winter's Hearth 333 

Field Flowers 334 

Smith's new Pocket Companion to the Roads of England and 

Wales, and part of Scotland 333 

The Stanley Tales jb. 

History of the Mahrattas. By James Grant Duff . . . 337 

The Boyne Water : a Tale, by the O'Hara Family . 354 



CONTEH^S. 

Traveb in Chile ttnd La Pluta. By John Mien . . . . 365 

The Pcrfitical Primer ; or the Road to Public Honours . . 37^ 

Annals of the House of Hanover. . By Sir Andrew Halliday . 384 

Continental Adventures, a Novel 398 

Adventures of a French SerjeallJI from 1805 to 1823 . 404 

Moore's National Melodies 420 

Notes of a Tour through France and Italy . . .431 

Abbassahy an Afttbian Tale . 438 

Shakqpeare's Romances 441 

Hints to Purchasers of Horses 442 

Arvendel, or Sketches in Italy and Switzerland . • . 443 

Paulus Parochialis r 445 

Truth, a Novel 446 

De Clifford, a Romance of the Red Rose . . . . ib. 

Fairy L^endsi, and Traditioiis of the South of Ireland . . 447 

German Popular Stories '. 448 

M emoirea Autographes de M. le Prince de Mpntbaiey . 449 

Lettere su Rome e Napoli 459 

Specimens of German Romance, selected and translated from 

various Authors ........ 464 

Dramaturgische Blatter von Ludwig Tieck .... 470 

Voyage en Sardaigne, de 1819 k 1825 ; ou Description Statis- 
tique. Physique, et Politique de cette Be. Par le Che- 
valier Albert de Marmora 479 

Memoires ou Souvenirs et Anecdotes. Par M. le Comte de 

Segur 484 

Storia d'ltalia, del 1789 al 1814 ; scritta da Carlo Botta . 496 
Memoires sur les ev6nemens qui ont precede la Mort de Joachim 
I., roi des Deux Siciles ; par Franceschetti, ex-General, 
sortant du service de Naples ; suivi de la Correspondance 
privee de ce G^n&ral avec la Reine, Comtesse de Lipano . 507 
L'Hermite en Irelande ; ou Observations sur les Moeurs et Usa- 
ges des Irlandois au commencement du XIX* siecle . 518 
Mittheilungen aus den M^moiren des Satan herausgegeben von 

♦*♦•. 524 

Memoires de M. de Falckenskiold, officier general au service de 
S. M. le Roi de Dannemarck, a Tepoque du minist^re et 

de la catastrophe du Comte de Struensee. . * . 532 



COHTBIITS. 

Revue Encyclop^dique, ou analyses et annonoei hdionnees des 
productions les plus remarquables dans la;Utterature, les 

sciences, et les arts 533 

Napoleon devant ses Contemporains 534 

Les Barricades, Scenes Historiques f:^ 535 

De la Litterature Allemande. Par M. Christian Muller 536 

History of the French Revolution. By A. F. Mignet • 537 

Lettres in^dites de Madame de Maintenon et de Madame la 

Princesse des Ursins 538 

Travels in the Mo^l Empire, by Francis Bemier. Translated 

from the French by Irving Brock 541 

Sketches of Algiers, Political, Historical, and Civil, containing 
a summary Account of its Geography, Population, Go- 
vernment, &c. By William Shaler .... 542 
Tableau Statisque du Commerce de la France, en 1824 543 



• • * 



THE 



« « . « 



MONTHLY REVIEW 






MAY, 1826. 



AiT. I* ADissertatum on the PageanUy or Dramatic Mvstenes, anctendy 
performed at Coventry, by the Trading Companies of that City; chiefly 
with Tefeence to tte Vehicle, Characters, and Dresses of the Actors. 
Compiled, in a great Degree, from Sources hitherto unexplored. To 
whidi' are added. The Pageant of the Shearmen and Taylors* Com- 
pany, and other Municipal Entertainments of a Public Nature. By 
Thomas Sharp. 4to. pp. 226. SL Ss. (Small-Paper Copy.) Merridew 
and Sons. Coventry. 1825« 

ISnqutriss into the nature and peculiarities of the Mysteries, or 
ScriptAtal Playa of the middle ages, are not without interest in 
several points of view. The prevalence of these representations itt^ 
every conntiy of Europe is generally illustrative of the religibtis 
fielings and observances of the times which produced themj: but 
in the study of English antiquities, more especially, much curious 
%ht is thrown by such enquiries upon the manners, amiiselAents,^ 
and p^ular tastes of our ancestors ; and the subject forms altc^tber. 
the natural and obvious introduction to the history of our national 
stage ;: for it is clear that the origin and rise of the English drama 
are to be traced exclusively to these mysteries, and to the moralities • 
by which the choice of scenes strictly scriptural came, later to be 
varied. How, or at what time precisely, the mysteries, or miracle 
plays, as they were indifferently termed^ were first exhibited in. 
England^ cannot now be ascertained ; but it is certain that their, 
introduction must be referred to a very remote period; and, as. 
Maloue has justly observed, Riccoboni, who contended that, the 
Italian theatre is the most ancient in Europe, claimed for his Qpuntry 
an honour to which she is not entitled. He could date the earliest 
rqirese&tation of scriptural subjects in Italy no higheir than the 
middle of the thirteenth century ; and there is good evidence of 
such performances in England full one hundred aud fi,fty ^eax^. 
before. 

In composii:^ the elaborate work before us,^ to elucidate \Vie ^^^-^ 
hmmace 0f mysteries at Coventry^ Mr. Sharp has mingled ?^ ^ 
roL, I J' NO. vj, B 



2 The Caoentry Mj/steries. 

measure of attachment to his nati.v.e *ijty with all the zeal and il 
dustry of a thorough antiqiiaria^! ; Bui he is, at the same time, 
sessed with some share of thai Overweening belief in the 
importance of his particukir LQeme, which seems inevitably to rest 
from the long pursuit/of such researches ; and when we find 
complaining, in the{>[tjse^ that the rehgious dramas, or myste 
have hitherto ' bseii^b'eated in a very superficial and unsatisfactt 
manner,' it is'evidSrtt either that he has conceived a very extravagajJl 
opinion qf "lJie_J*aramount magnitude of the subject, or that he very , 
much .^^^'er'ates the value anil novelty of his own discoveries > ' 
for, m" truth, the mysteries have always been treated with quite a 
sufii^iibrit degree of attention by the historians of our drama and 
.'.pWitty. AH these writers have unanimously agreed in referring to 
■•scriptural exhibitions for the origin and rise of the Enghsh stage; 
and they have usually been quite as diffuse on their notice of them 
as the occasion deserved. Not to mention names of less celebrity, 
both Warton, in his elegant history of our poetry, and Dr. Percy, 
the ingenious collector of our ancient ballads, have made full and, 
in general, most accurate investigations into these earliest dramatic 
performances ; and Malone, whose industry, whatever may be other- 
wise deemed of the powers of his mind, has rendered his Historical 
Account of the English Stage an invaluable repository uf facts, hav- 
ing collected Irom uiose authors and other sources almost all that 
was worth knowing on the characteristics of the religious plays. 

If any farther illustration of the subject was required by anti- 
quarian curiosity, Mr. Markland's History of the Chester Mysteries 
has, witliin a few years, amply aflfbrded it. That gentlemen printed^ 
in 1818, specimens of two of those plays, for circulation exclusively ' 
among the members of the Roxburghe Club, and prefixed to his; 
work an elaborate dissertation on the religious drama, in which he 
corrected the few trifling errors of Warton and Malone. Mr. 
Markland's Introduction has since been inserted in Mr, Boswell's 
twenty-one volume edition of Shakspeare, and is therefore no longer 
withheld, in the jealous obscurity and petty seclusion of a few 
libraries, from the perusal of the general I'eader. 

But if any proof were wanting of the futility of Mr. Sharp's 
complaint, that the Olustration of the miracle plays has been ne- 
glected, or superficially treated, its refutation is to be found in the 
pages of his own goodly quarto. Notwithstanding the boast of his 
title-page, that his dissertation has been ' compiled, in a great de- 
gree, from sources nitherto unexplored,' he has altogether failed in 
the attempt to add a single fact of importance to the previous stores 
of our general knowledge on his subject. Whatever certain anti- 
quarians may delight to believe, die usefiil end of investigation does 
not consist in the laborious trifling with which the attention is frit- 
tered away upon minute certainties and petty doubts. The scholar of 
enlarged mind and philosophical reflection will view such enquiries 
-ay £iase before us with reference only to the light which they can 



TKe Caoentry Mysteries^ S 

upon the progress of intellect, manners, and literature : he 
till take care to examine only the great operations of the machinery 
of society, not to count every nail and peg in its rude and ordinal 
tacture. We cannot always choose but smile — without ofrence 
to Mr. Sharp be it spoken — at the solemnity with which he dwells 
on the uses of iron pins and clamps, * tenter-hooks, rings, wire, 
dtread, and small cord.' Neither can we sympathise in his grievous 
lunentation over the loss of some ' draper's book of accounts,* 
(p. 68.) which could only have accumulated his sufficient catalogue 
ofsach important articles; nor do we exactly comprehend why 
(p. 82.) he * deeply regrets the want of the items and charges of 
representation for the l^earmen and Taylors' Pageant,' which could 
ody have resembled fifty other accounts of the kind to be found in 
iis volume. 

We have, however, every disposition to do full justice to the 
corious interest and real merits of Mr. Sharp's volume. If he has 
been able to add no novel facts or fresh conclusions to those already 
fcmiliar to the dramatic scholar, his researches have certainly con- 
siderably augmented the general mass of details relating to the 
machinery of the pageants, the costume of those rude theatres, and 
ie dramatis personce of the mysteries ; and though the particulars 
which he has brought forward prove only the perfect similarity of 
these Cbventry exhibitions to the performances at Chester, York, 
and varions others of our provincial towns, yet the result of the 
comparison is satisfactory and interesting. Mr. Sharp, moreover, 
has introduced many incidental and correlative particulars on some 
of the manners and customs of our ancestors : several of the plates 
which adorn his volume are highly curious; and the work, which is 
handsomely '' got up," may altogether be pronounced a very pleasing 
and acceptable contribution to our archaeological literature. 

As the costliness and rarity of the volume, as well as its elaborate 
form and the multiplicity of its details, will preclude it from general 
circulation and perusal, we shall probably be rendering our readers an 
agreeable service by giving such an account of its contents, and com<r^ 
pressing into our pages as many of its most interesting points, as 
oar limits will permit. Mr. Sharp has commenced by directing 
and separating his enquiries into the Nature of the Vehicles on which 
the Mysteries were represented, the Characters which figured in the 
exhibition, and the Dresses of the actors. He informs us, that he 
was induced to compile the present dissertation from * having, in 
the course of acquiring materials for the history of his native city^ 
examined the ancient books and documents belonging to the cor-« 
poration, and the remaining account-books and other writings of 
the ti'ading companies, and thereby been enabled to collect a con- 
siderable body of information respecting the pageants, or mysteries, 
formerly exhibiting at Coventry; tending, more patticviVaTVj, Aok 
elucidate the management^ machinery^ dresses, characlet, aiv^ \\x- 
temal economy of those performances^ 

B 2 



♦ The Cavenhy Mysteries. 

In one respect, he has certainly thus possessed eaaw 

advantages for liia undertaking- From whatever cause, Coventry 
became particularly famous during the middle ages for these ex- 
hibitions ; and perhaps, next to the Chester mysteries, no English 
performances of the kind were so celebrated in those times as the 
Coventry plays. It was, we believe, a passage in Dugdale which 
first drew the attention of later antiquarians to the dramatic renown 
of the city of Godiva, 

" Before ye suppression of the monasteries," says this best illustrator 
of old England, " this cittye was very famous for the pageants that were 
play'd therein upon Corpus- Chriiti day. Tliese pageants were acted 
w'*" mighty state and reverence by the fryers of this house, and con- 
teyned the story of the New Testament, w'* was composed into old 
English rime. The theatres for the severall scenes were very large and 
high, and being placed upon wheeles, were drawne to all the eminent 
places of the cittye, for y' better advantage of the spectaiora. In that 
incomparable library belonging to Sir Thomas Colion, there is yet one 
of the bookes w*" apperteyned to this pageant, entitled Ludus Corporis 
Ckristi, or Ludas Coventrite. I my selfe have spoke w'"" some old people 
who had in their younger yeares bin eye-witnesses of these pageants soe 
acted ; from whom I have bin told that the confluence of people from 
farr and neare to see that sliew was extraordinary great, and yielded noe 
small advantage to this cittye." 

But an old interlude (of the * Ps by Heywood) bears a yet 
more decisive testimony to the fiimJliar and proverbial celebrity of 
the Coventry plays. 

" For as gootl hap would have it cliatince, 
This devil and I wei-e of olde acquaintance; 
' For oft, in the play of Corpus Cfiristi, 

B* He hath play'd the devil at Coventrie." 

< Long, however, before the suppression of the monasteries, it is 
evident, from the Coventry records which Mr. Sharp has examined, 
that the exhibition of these performances had passed from the hands 
of the Grey Ftiars into the charge of the mayor, corporationj and 
trading companies of the city. Such was the passion of our fore- 
fathers for all kinds of pompous processions and pageants, and for 
these religious plays in particular, that their arrangement and show 
became matters of municipal regulation ; and the archives, not only 
of Coventry, but of Chester, York, and many other places, are full 
of evidence that the celebration of a series of mysteries was assigned, 
in Guccesston, to the different guilds of trade. Each company, or 
sometimes two or three minor fraternities, had its subject ; and the 
series, which Usted throughout a whole day, or sometimes, indeed, 
occupied two or even several entire days, not uncommonly embraced 
the story of both the Old and New Testament from the creation to 
the day of judgment. 

Many royal spectators lionoured the Coventry mysteries with 
their presence. The extant records of the city commence only, it 



T%e Qweniry Mysteries. 5 

appears, about the opening of the fifteenth century. In 141 65 
Henry V. and his nobles (say these annals) ^* took great delight 
in sedng the pageants." In 14*56, Margaret, the amason-queen of 
his son, came to Coventry to keep her Corpus Christi — the 
favourite festival for these performances. In 1484, Richard III., 
and, two years later, Henry VII., were present at the Corpus-Christi 
plays of the city ; and in 1492, the latter monarch renewed his 
visit on the same occasion. So also, in later times, when the r^ 
ligious plays were declining in fashion, Prince Arthur his son, 
Henry VIII., Queen Elizabeth, and other royal personages, were 
treat^ with different pageants in their visits to the city. Mr. Sharp 
has made no attempt to explain the frequency of these royal visits 
to a provincial town : but the vicinity of the palace of Kenilworth 
may in a great measure account for them. 

In accompanying Mr; Sharp through his enquiries, we proceed, 
in the first place, to his account of the Vehicle of representation 
— properly the Pageant; for the term was first applied to the 
moving stage of exhibition, and afterwards to the exhibition itself. 
The pageant was little else than the waggon of the rude Grecian 
stage: 

** Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis 
Quae canerent agerentque perfuncti faecibus ora :" 

a vehicde whose modern analogy may be found in the caravan of 
mountebanks which graces a country fair. The pageant of the 
Chester and Coventry games, however, was a modern building of 
two stories on wheels, which was drawn by men from street to 
street. It was also customary to have scaffolds or stages in the 
streets for the accommodation of the spectators, probably those of 
better quality; and these scaffolds were also on wheels and moved 
with the pageant. 

In the lower room of the pageant, which contained also the 
machinery for raismg storms, representing the infernal regions, &c., 
the players " apparelled themselves," says old Archdeacon Rogers, 
" and in the higher rbom they played, beinge all open at the tope, 
that all behoulders might hear and see them. The places where 
they played them was in every stre^e. They begane first at the 
Abay-gates, (at Chester,) and when the first pagiante was played, it 
was wheeled to the Highe Crosse before the mayor, and so to every 
streete, and soe every streete had a pagiant playinge before them ac 
one time, till all the pagiantes for the daye appoynted weare 
played, and when one pagiant was neare ended, worde was broughte 
from streete to streete, that soe they mighte come in place thereof, 
excedinge orderiye, and all the streetes have their pagiantes afore 
diem all at one time playeinge togeather ; to se w'ch playes was 
great resorte, and also scafoldes and stages made in the streetes in 
those places where they determined to pTaye theire pagiawtes ." 

B 3 



■8 The Caventi-y Mysteries. ^B 

' The higher room seems to have been,' says Mr. Sharp, * an ob- 
jecl of no inconsiderable attention : in the Drapers' Pageant this was 
embattled and ornamented with carved wood-work ana a crest : the 
Smiths had vanes, burnished and painted, and the use of pensUs or 
streamers, or both, may be discovered in all tlie remaining ac- 
count,' But we shall give the passage in his own words, in which 
he exhibits his conclusions on the exact nature of the building. 
Here he has evinced considerable ingenuity; and a native young 
artist of Coventry, a Mr. David Jee, has furnished him with a 
fancy plate of a pageant- vehicle at the time of representation, which 
forms the frontispiece of his volume, and is not only admirably de- 
signed, but very respectably engraved. To our eyes, indeed, il 
forms the great charm of the volume. The scene chosen is a 
street in Coventry, which the preservation of the antique buildings 
of that city has enabled the artist to give almost from its present 
aspect. The architectural part of the drawing is well and boldly 
thrown out; the costume of the spectators is in perfect keeping 
with the scene and the age ; and the figures are grouped with spirit 
and ease. 

' The supposed pageant of the Smiths' Company is stationed near 
the Cross, in the Cross-clieaping, and the armed guard around it are in- 
troduced upon the authority of an item in their accounts for 1469. 
The group partly seated on the ground are intended to represent 
the persons who drew the vehicle from station to station ; three rain- 
strels are seen in the fore-ground, one of whom has bagpipes, and 
beside them stands a carpenter, the propriety of whose attendance on 
this occasion is proved by extracts from the accounts of the Cappers' 
Pageant. The time of action chosen is the period when Pilate, upon 
the repeated charges of Caiaphas and Annas, is compelled to give up 
Christ for execution, and a servant bringing water in a basin is partly 
obscured by the pillar, upon which lies a scourge. Pilate is represented 
sitting upon a throne or chair of state, a licence that seemed perfectly 
allowable, although no specific mention of such a seat occurs in the 
notices gleaned n-om the pageant-accounts of tlie Smiths' Company ; 
beside him stands his son, with sceptre and poll-axe, and beyond our 
Saviour are the two high priests, habited as Christian bishops ; the two 
armed figures behind are the knights. The vanes, crest, streamer, em- 
hattlement, and carved boards Jbr the top of the Pageant, previously 
noticed, are introduced in the design, and the pageant-cloth bears the 
appropriate symbols of the passion. 

' It has been judged advisable not to introduce any representation of 
the moveable scaffold, in a situation which afforded such ample room for 
the numerous spectators, both inhabitants and strangers, who crowded 
to witness the performances, and the rather, because the accounts of 
these appendages to the pageant-vehicle are not very clear and explicit. 
The architectural character of the houses is derived from actual ex- 
amples in Coventry, and some pains have been taken to give a general 
air of consistency to the costumes of the figures introduced,' — 
pp. 22, 23. 



The Caoentry Mysteries. 7 

On the CHARACTERS introduced into the Mysteries — which 
Mr. S3iarp professes to treat for the second point of his dissertation 
— it is scarcely necessary to say much ; for this part of his subject 
has been most fully noticed by all previous writers on the history 
of the stage. As the incidents of these religious plays were not 
only founded on Holy Writ, but taken in series from the Old and 
New Testaments, the exhibition endeavoured to copy without 
scruple or repugnance the most awful scenes and events of our 
feith. In the Chester Mysteries, and doubtless in many others, 
the Creation, the Fall of Man, the Deluge, the events of the sacred 
Jewish annals, the Nativity of our Saviour, his Temptation, Passion, 
Resurrection, and Ascension, were selected lor the pageants of the 
civic trades. But it is a little remarkable that all the scriptural 
pageants referred to in the accounts of the guilds of Coventry 
which Mr. Sharp has discovered were taken trom the subjects of 
the New Testament and none from the Old. These were : the 
Birth of Christ and OflFering of the Magi ; the Flight into E^pt 
and Murder of the Innocents \ the Trial, Condemnation, and Cru- 
cifixion of Christ; his Descent into Hell, ResuiTection, and Ap- 
pearance to Mary Magdalen. " Domesday," or the Day of 
Judgment, a very favourite subject in all the Mysteries, also ap- 
pears in these Coventry records among the above pageants ; and at 
length, under the date of 1584, there appears a notice in the city 
annals that this year the new play of The Destruction of Jerusalem 
was first played. It was the work of a scholar, John Smith or Smythe 
of St. John's College, Oxford, who had received his first education 
at the fi-ee-school at Coventry ; and it is evident from the names of 
the characters referred to in the city accounts (all that remains of 
the piece) that the story was copied from Josephus. Mr. Sharp 
might have remarked upon the natural and gradual transition, 
evinced in this performance, from the strictly scriptural subjects of 
the Mysteries to the composition of historical plays. This is a 
curious link in the history of our stage ; and our author might 
have dwelt also upon the striking fact, that this play had evidently 
a regular chorus, copied doubtless by the " learned clerk/' Masier 
Smythe, after the Grecian model. 

But to return from this little digression, th6 nature 6f the 
dramatis persoruje introduced into the Mysteries is thus obvious. 
Whatever we most reverence, and all that we adore, was debased 
and travestied in these wretched, and, as they must appear to us, most 
impious performances. Not only the first parents of mankind, 
patriarchs, apostles, and angels, were perpetually introduced on the 
stage, but even the personification of God the Father, of Christ, 
and of the Holy Ghost, was equally common. Nor were heavenly 
personages alone introduced. The great one of evil and his attend- 
ant demons figured in the pageant of Doomsday; and Satan was 
indeed usually a particular favourite with the spectatoTS. \tv ^'^ 
ancient religious plays, says Malone, the Devil was very feecjaexv^- 

B 4 



fl The Coventry Mi/sieries. 

introduced. He was usually represented with horns, a very wide 
moutli, (by means of a mask,) staring eyes, a large nose, a red 
beard) cloven feet, and a tail. His constant attendiint was the 
Vice, (the buffoon of the piece,) whose principal employment was 
to belabour the Devil with his wooden dagger, and to make him 
roar for the entertainment of the populace. 

We should, however, err greatly if we imagined, that these ex- 
hibitions, the burlesque blasphemy of whicli no modern audience 
could tolerate, were witnessed by the rude and simple spectators 
with any idea of their impropriely, or with other feelings dian 
those of respect and serious curiosity. It is certain that our an- 
cestors, as Warton has observed, intended no sort of impiety by 
these monstrous and unnatural performances. We may even add 
with Warton, that these exhibitions had their use in teaching the 
great truths of Scripture to men, who could not read the Bible, 
and who if they liad been without this instruction, most inade- 

auate as it was, would probably have received no other. Upon 
lis subyect Mr. Sharp has copied, after Mr. D'Israeli, a passage 
from the MS. life of John Shaw, vicar of Rotherham, an honest 
divine somewhat austerely inclined, which curiously illustrates the 
state of religious knowledge in Laiicashu'e, even late in the six- 
teenth centuiy. 

' " I found," says he, " a very large spacious church, scarce any 
seats in it ; a people very ignorant, and yet willing to learn ; so I had 
frequcndy some tnousanda of hearers. I catechised ia season and out 
of season. The churches were so thronged at nine in the morning, that 
I had much ado to get to the pulpit- One day, an old man of sixty, 
sensible enough in other things, and living in the parish of Cartmel, 
coming to me on some business, 1 told him that he belonged to my care 
and charge, and I desired to be informed in his knowledge of religion, 
I asked him how many Gods there were ? He said, he knew not. I 
informing him, asked again how he thought to be saved ? He answered, 
he could not tell ; yet thought that was a harder question than the 
other. I told him that the way to salvation was by Jesus Christ ; God- 
man, who, as he was a man, shed his blood for us on the cross, &c. 
' Oh, Sir,' said he, ' 1 think I heard of that man you speak of once in a 
play at Kendall, called Corpus Christ's play, where there was a man on 
a tree, and blood run down,' &c- And afterwards he professed he 
could not remember that he ever heard of salvation by Jesus, but in that 
play," ' 

It is necessary to have the caution of Warton full before us in 
reading the entries in these account-books of the Coventry Trades, 
for many of them are couched in terms that might otherwise 
sound to us as abominably irreverent. Thus in one place we have, 
" Payd to the players for Corpus xpisti daye ; imprimis, to God, ij»." 
And again; " Itm, payd to God, xx", Itm, to the Spry tt of 
God^ xvi''. Itm, payd to Robert Cro for pleaying God, iii'. iiij*." 
And, once i ' 



The CdoenhTf M^ierieu 9 

Has the entries of payments to the players are almost always 
made in the name of the character and not of the performer. In 
the pageant of the Crucifixion, Pilate was evidently considered 
the most important character, for we fiifd his personator constantly 
receiving Ss. ^d. and sometimes 4^., the highest sum paid to any 
player in the same pageants. Herod was also a prominent cha- 
racter, receiving usually Ss. ^d. The " Devyll and Judas" are 
paired, with \s. 6d. between them; and ^^ Peter and Malkus" are 
similarly coupled for a less sum. At another time, the performer 
of this last character was rewarded only with four-pence. Once we 
have a payment of four-pence also to *^ Fawston for hangying 

Judas," and again to the same accomplished person, ^^ Itin, to 
Fawston for coc croying, iiij*^." Angels and demons, " savyd 
and dampnyd sowles," " pattryarkys," and ** wormes of conscyence,'* 
are variously paid. 

If such were the wages of the actors, it is amusing to learn thel 
rates at which the playwrights were rewarded. " Robert Croo for 
ij leves of ore pley-boke," that is, for adding two leaves of dialogue,, 
receives eight-pence. Again, p. 48., some one who had written 
a new part for a character is permitted to rejoice in the receipt of 
one penny. Far otherwise was it, however, that the learned Master 
Smy the was entreated, touching his play of the Destruction of 
Jerusalem. " For hys paynes for writing of the tragedye," he is 
set down for 1 3Z. 65. 8rf., or as Mr. Sharp might have explained it, 
a proper round bonus of forty nobles, — a goodly reward ! and a 
mint of money for a poor scholar of those days. 

When we proceed next to examine the charges for the Dresses 
of the actors, we find the items still more strange, and even revolt- 
ing, than some of those to which we have referred. We shall pass 
as lightly as possible over some of them, noticing only such as are 
necessary for the elucidation of the subject. In one account there 
are entries, " God's coat of white leather, six skins, and a cheveril 
(peruke) for Jesus, gilt." Also, " a girdle for God :" " a newe 
sudere" (veronica) and " a seldall" (seat) both for the same purpose. 
And under another date, " Item, payd for v schepskins for God's 
coot, and for makyng, iij» ;" and " payd for mendying a cheveril 
for God, and for sowying of God's kote of leddur, and for makying 
of the hands to the same kote," &c. And again ; " payd for a 
peyre of gloves for God, 2**." And, for our last example of the 
kind, " a coat for the Spirit of God made of buckram." 

Among a great variety of other items for dresses, there are 
several very cunous and less offensive. Charges for mitres for 
Annas and Caiaphas are frequent : for, by a strange anachronism, 
these Jewish high priests seem always to have been arrayed in the 
habiliments of Christian prelates, and are constantly termed " byss- 
choppis." A quart of wine is charged for the hiring of a gown 

for Pilate's wifei and " Itm to a reward for Maisturres Gt^raj^ 



10 The Ctmniry Mysteries. 

for lendying off her gcir ffoi- Pylatt's wife, xij^." Items for wine 
and meat, tor drinking, breakthsts, dinners, and suppers of the 
players, are of perpetual recurrence; and once there appears, 
*' Paid Pilate, the bishops, and knights, to drink between the 
stages." Thus, too, there are charges for wings for the angels, 
and sundry expences for washing their albs or white surplices. So 
also we have charges for mending the Devyll's hede (vizor); to a 
chevril gyld for Petur; to 3lb. of hair for the Devil's coat and 
hose ; and " for v elves of canvas for shirts and hose for the blakke 
sowles, and for coloryng the same." 

• The black or damned souls,' says Mr. Sharp, (p. 70.) ' had their 
faces blackened, and were dressed in coats and hose. The fabric of 
the hose was buckram or canvass, of which latter material nineteen ells 
were used in 1556, yellow and black; and probably a party-coloured 
dress was made for them, where the yellow was so combmed aa to 
represent flames. The dresses worn by the wretched victims of the 
Inquisition at an auto de fe will naturally present themselves to the 
reader's imagination on this occasion ; and it might be conjectured that 
the habits worn by the damned souls in the Mysteries originally furnished 
tlie idea for a dress eminently calculated to impress the spectators with 
horror.' 

The nature of the Machinery used in the Mysteries is very 
ftiUy illustrated in the Coventry books of accounts. It is evident 
that all the circumstances of the Crucifixion, for instance, were most 
minutely and indecently copied. The cross, the gallows, tht 
scourge, and the pillar, are all noticed as required for the repre- 
sentation ; and in one place there is a charge for " a lase (oi 
beam) tor Judas," and " a corde ;" and also for " a newe hoke to 
bang Judas." 

The most favourite part of the machinery of the Mysteries with 
the spectators was the exhibition of the internal regions, and par- 
ticularly in the pageant of Doomsday. Here, accordingly, we have 
numerous items of charges for material : such as " the baryll for 
the yertliequake." (In what manner this apparatus was applied is 
unknown.) Also, " Payd to Crowe for makyng of iij worldys," 
3s. 4(i. (to be set on fire at successive exhibitions,) and " payd for 
settyng the world on fyer," Hd. ; and farther, " Itm, payd for 
kepyng of fyer at hell-mothe," 4rf. 

This last item proves, that to heighten the terrific exhibition of 
the infernal regions, the hcll-moulh was made to vomit forth real 
flames to the view of the spectators. But, indeed, the whole his- 
tory of the religious pageants of the middle ages is full of evidence 
of the zeal with which the horrors of damnation were exhibited 
for the edification of the people. Mr. Sharp might have elucidated 
the history of these spectacles by referring to the famous occasion 
at Florence, in one of the first years of the fourteenth century, in 
which the monks converted the bed of the Amo into the scene ol 
lelL People rolled and tossed in it amidst the apparent torturo^ 



1 



The CaoetUry Mysteries. 1 1 

of fire, serpents, and all the arsenal of scenic horrors ; and there 
can be little doubt that it was to some such exhibitions, which were 
common in the age of Dante, the world is indebted for the idea 
and plan of the Inferno. 

Mr. Sharp, however, has well illustrated the style in which the 
scenes of the infernal regions were displayed, by several curious 
plates of devils and hell-mouths, copied from delineations which, 
he justly observes, as they were coeval with the performance of the 
Mysteries, may be presumed to bear some resemblance to the 
manner in which they were then exhibited. In one of these, copied 
from a series of illuminated drawings of the eleventh century, in 
the Cottonian library, and illustrative of the Old and New Testa- 
ments, the last judgment is represented. There are three crowned 
heads among the victims tormented by demons ; and one of them 
is a female. Dante, therefore, was not the first who exhibited the 
evil rulers of the earth paying the penalty of their crimes : though 
we shall not find any of his mitred sinners and wearers of the triple 
crown among the victims in these monkish drawings. But another 
of Mr. Sharp's plates is far more curious. It is a hell-mouth and 
interior from some ancient frescoes in the chapel of the Holy 
Cross at Stratford- on- Avon, first discovered during a repair in 
1804?. The whole of these subjects were published in lithography, 
and coloured as the originals, by Mr. T. Fisher ; but the impres- 
sions being limited to one hundred, the work is not commonly to 
be met with. In the print from the collection engraved for 
Mr. Sharp's book, the horrid and ludicrous, as he remarks, are so 
conjoined as to render it difiicult to determine which prevails. A 
demon is approaching the yawning mouth of hell with a whole 
bundle of the condemned, bound together by a chain, and slung 
on his back like a huge load of wood. Another demon is dragging 
in a solitary criminal by the heel ; a third is blowing the bellows 
under a furnace full of the condemned ; and other imps are occupied 
in the various works of torment, or sounding the trumpet of victory 
over the battlements of the region. The expression in the faces 
of all these demons is one of inimitable malignity and joy ; and 
the devilish complacency in the air of one of them, before whom a 
" dampned soule" kneels in supplication is quite a triumph of rude 
art. There is a ludicrous keeping in the punishment of several 
of the criminals, the character of whose danining sin is written 
over their heads; and one, with the motto superbia^ rides into 
torment perched on the shoulders of a demon. As all the figures 
are naked, this strange print offers no data to determine its age. 

But it is time to quit the subject of the Mysteries ; and, sooth 
to say, we have gleaned from Mr. Sharp's volume almost all the 
really remarkable particulars which it offers, or at least which the 
subject caa require. He has, indeed, himself dwelt long and ver- 
bosely upon it con amore >• and he notices the suppression o( iVveis^ 
todeceutburjesques {p.34f.% at the close of the sixteeTilVi cetvX.xxx'^^ 




Dhcoiifeii/s in liiissia. 

with some appearance of regret ot the extinttion 
theme. ' The temper of the times,' says he, ' was hostile to 
such exhibitions of sacred subjects, especially among the clergy 
and the higher orders of society, who had embraced the Protestant 
religion, and men in power ;' but a dramalic historian and critic 
of our limes, whose sound judgment and acute spirit of investi- 
gation cannot be too highly commended, has accounted far more 
justly and satisfactorily for the disuse of the religious dram>. 
" Tlie Mysteries an<l Moralities continued in rival populari^," 
observes Mr. Skottowe, in his admirable Essays on Shakspearet 
" aniil ike improved understanding of the audience drove both trom 
the stage." 

But we must now conclude by noticing briefly the remaining parts 
of Mr. Sharp's volume. We have not a word of commendation 
to bestow upon his laborious industry in publishing from the l^ay 
Book of the Shearmen and Taylors' Company at Coventry the 
whole dialogue of their pageant of the Birth of Christ, the Offer- 
ing of the Magi, the Flight into Egypt, and the Murder of the 
Innocents. There is no intrinsic merit in this wretched and do^erd 
piece to render its publication at all necessary, after the similar 
specimens given by Mr. Markland of the Chester Mysteries ; and 
it may only vie with some of the " precious rep nts ol 1 Rox- 
burghe Club. Our author's enquiries, in 1 n x p rt of his 
volume, into some of the other pageants and \ n f Coven- 

try deserve more respectful notice ; and hi fie play 

of Hox Tuesday, — in which the overthrow t 1 D es was 
represented, — of the religious processions of C p Ch sti and 
other festivals, and of various gratulatory pageants, exhibited on 
different occasions, may all prove of some utility in the illustration 
of manners. So, also, his concluding notice on the Minstrels and 
Waits of Coventry is full of interest, for tlie light which it throi 
upon the state of music in the middle ages. 






Art. II. Observations siir la Puissance de I'Anglelerre el sur celle de 
Bussie. Par Charles Dupin, Membre de rinstitut, &c. Paris. 

In noticing the storm which has long been gathering against the t 
late Autocrat, we trust that the developeraents made will explain \ 
the causes and the nature of the conspiracy, which has signalised ' 
the ascent of the Emperor Nicholas to the throne, and at the same i 
time give correct notices of the present state of Russia. 

Though Alexander was reckoned a popular sovereign, yet strong, 
and, for the greatest part, concealed parties were decidedly, vehe- 
mently, and resolutely opposed to his views: some of his nobles and 
of his army imagined that he proceeded too rapidly in his plans of 
civilisation, while others blamed him for tardiness ; and the Tsar, 



DiscotiteiUs in Russia. 13 

pmdence, and wisdom, displeased all parties. Soon after his ascent 
to the throne, hi 1801, he seriously occupied himself with the 
freedom of the peasantry ; but for some time little progress was 
made towards the accomplishment of his purpose. A memorable 
drcnmstance in the history of Russia, which will ever endear the 
oame of the late chancellor of that empire. Count Rumantsof, to the 
adrocates of freedom and the friends of humanity, gave a new and 
a powerful impulse to 'Alexandei*'s wise plans. In 1803 the Count 
kad expressed a wish to be allowed to give some of his vassals their 
liberty, and to bestow upon them some portions of land, so that 
they might become free cultivators, a class hitherto unknown in 
Russia. Alexander, ever alive to the interests of the peasantry, 
by an nkaz of the 4th of March of the same year created this new 
dass of subjects. By virtue of it, every landed proprietor was 
permitted to transfer to vassals, on giving them their liberty, as- 
signed portions of land, to be held by them as free cultivators^ 
either \yf sale or on other conditions. In 1 804 the enfranchisement 
of the peasants steadily, though slowly, continued. The govern- 
iDent took care that those who were made free should have suffi- 
cient means of subsistence, and that their liberty should really be 
a blessing. In 1805, M. Solovof, a nobleman, and a counsellor 
of state, presented a glorious example to his countrymen, by liber- 
ating five thousand of his vassals, who were to pay him, in nine- 
teen years, one million and a half of rubles for the lands given up 
to them : an example which has been followed by a few patriotic 
individuals ; and the Emperor, from that time, constantly promoted 
the cause of emancipation, except during a few of the last months 
of his existence. Slavery was formally abolished by the nobility 
of Courland in 1818; and the nobles of Livonia decreed, in 1819, 
its gradual abolition; so that, by 1826, all the peasants of that 
province should be free, while all children, who were bom after 
the publication of the ordinance of 1819, were to be free from 
their birth. 

Thus, unlike a giddy inexperienced politician, though armed 
with despotic power, Alexander did not rush precipitately to 
work. On the contrary, his steps were dictated by an enlarged 
and enlightened policy. He considered the plan in all its bearings ; 
and especially with respect to the peasants themselves, and to their 
aristocratic masters : he balanced many nice points ; he came to a 
decision ; and his actions demonstrated his sincerity in the great 
cause of humanity. He well knew that the manumission of the 
slaves was, with the greater number of the proprietors, the most 
unpopular reform which he could devise. It threatened their do- 
mineering aristocratic ascendancy with a death-blow. Their private 
interests and circumscribed views he knew would prevent them 
from comprehending, or even from wishing to comprehend, the 
boieficent designs of their sovereign. The deadliest of all sins^ in 
their eye% were measures calculated to diminish thek \\€tedLY\».T^ 



14 Discontents in Russia. 

power over their slaves : the latter scarcely knew what liberty wa%' 
till they were in possession of it, and, with a few exceptions, were 
mere automatons in the transactions. 

In 1815, we had an o])portunity of hearing the discussions and 
the opinions of several of the Russian nobles, as to the liberation 
of the peasantry, and the result of our observations was, that the 
generality of them were decidedly hostile to emancipation. They 
denounced Alexander's measures with the greatest animation, with 
vehemence of gesture, and in the strongest language of repro- 
bation ; at times they even forgot the respect which was due to 
their sovereign's name and character. The manumission of the 
slaves 1 they would exclaim. What ! does Alexander intend our 
ruin, the ruin of our posterity, the ruin of tlie peasantry, the over- 
tlirow of the empire ? Thus on the question of emancipation a 
party, whose power and whose prejudices were by no means to be 
despised, was raised up against the Autocrat. 

We believe that we may assert, witliout fear of contradiction, 
that the treaty of Tilsit also lost Alexander much of the confidence 
and the esteem of his nation. Many who had hitherto supposed 
him, though young and inexperienced, to possess considerable 
talents, independence of spirit, firmness of mind, and sound judg- 
ment, now looked upon him as already the dupe of the wily Napo- 
leon, who would ultimately make him a mere tool or i^ent in bis 
ambitious schemes. The readiness with which Alexander acceded 
to the proposal to meet Napoleon at Erfiirth in the following yeiu", 
as well as the results of this second interview, more and more 
ri vetted this opinion. 

The Russians are not backward in avowing that if Alexander 
had not been captivated by Napoleon, and had not acceded to the 
treaty of Tilsit, he might have formed an alliance with the powers 
of Europe, which would have prevented even the idea of the in- 
vasion of Russia by the French ; and we have heard some of the 
natives declare their conviction that if Paul, the whimsical Paul, 
had been alive, such an event would never have happened, and 
consequently that the ancient capital would not have been de- 
stroyed. There is no doubt that the invasion of Russia and the 
burning of Moscow had created much discontent, and had even 
raised up some decided enemies to the monarch. 

We are afraid that we must enumerate among the leading causes 
of discontent in Russia those very means which Alexander adopted 
for the purpose of enhghtening it. Aware of the universal igno- 
rance of his subjects, he at the beginning strongly patronised the 
dissemination of the Scriptures among them, in various languages. 
Further, believing that a general system of introductory education 
should precede, or at least accompany, the distribution of the 
divuie truths, he instituted and encouraged universities, academies, 
gymnasia, and seminaries of evei-y description for the males, while 
the Baaie task for die fem^es was chiefly left to the direction of the 



IHscontetUs in Russia, 1 i 

Empress^mother; he likewise protected missionaries, and, in shorty 
did every thing in his power to promote the general illumination of 
his people. 

The success of the Bible-societies was apparently of the tnost 
rapid and permanent description ; but, in truth, it was merely ex- 
ternal^ and soon betrayed the insincerity of those who affected to 
support those institutions. The despotic influence of the govern- 
ment led to the practice of the grossest deceptions. The nobles, 
the clergy, and the merchants, who, in order to attract the favour 
of His Majesty, subscribed most largely to those societies, highly 
disapproved, in secret, of the whole system. It was besides openly 
and violently opposed by a number of the Russians, and especially 
by those who were advanced in years, and who, therefore, were the 
more influential in instilling their aversion into the minds of their 
families, friends, and dependants. Among them were to be reckoned 
most of those nobles of the old ci^eed who preferred that affairs 
should remain in statu quoy and who were convinced that ignorance 
is bliss. They viewed the Bible-societies only as one of the means 
of illuminating the peasantry and of civilising the empire ; objects 
which were cherished by their monarch, but which they imagined 
would prove ruinous to the state. Thus a measure for which an 
enlightened nation would have highly praised Alexander was turned 
to his disadvantage. It is a striking proof of the effect of this op- 
position, that in the last year of his reign he ceased to patronise the 
circulation of the Scriptures. 

Had Buonaparte conquered Russia, he could not, we apprehend, 
have done much for its civilisation, and probably he would have 
shown little inclination for its improvement : but by his invasion, 
his retreat, the capture of Paris, the sojourn of the Russian army 
of occupation in France, and, in a word, by the events of the cam- 
paigns of 1812 — 18 15, Russia was brought into contact with enlight- 
ened Europe, to receive its wisdom, not with those minglings of 
doubt and error which mark the progress of enquiry, but with all 
the advantages of experience, and all the laborious deductions of 
philosophy* It so happened, that the same campaigns, while they 
enlightened many of the military officers, who highly approved of 
the plans of the Autocrat, also inspired a number of young officers, 
and others of matuier years, with more enlarged ideas concerning 
the proper relations between the governors and the governed than 
they had before entertained. These ideas expanded by degrees 
upon the return of the army to Russia, and operated very forcibly 
towards the formation of the late conspiracy. Other causes, how- 
ever, were not wanting to produce, perhaps somewhat prematurely, 
the explosion, which has scarcely yet subsided. The severe punish- 
ment of a number of officers, descendants of high families, for 
trifling offences, caused discontent and chagrin to their relations 
and their fi^iends, and roused the disgust and the indignation of the 
sufferers. The inflexibility of the Tsar to hearken to thevx i^t^oxA 



Discontenls in Russia, 

engendered feelings of revenge. They deemed themselves martyrs 
to injustice, and they declaimed against those they deemed their 
oppressors, — the Tsiir and his favourites. 

The inaction of the army, in consequence of the long peace, and, 
more especially, the unexpected delay of warfare with the Turks, 
contributed greatly to the prevailing discontent, not only by the 
distressing languor which it caused, but also as there was, cCTn- 
paratively speaking, no promotion, no avenue open to distinction or 
to talents. For a number of years past, the Kussian army has been 
constantly on the tip-toe of expectation to receive a declaration of 
war, and an order to march to the celebrated regions of the East, 
and it has ardently burned for the day of battle. Again and again 
has a report reached the troops that at length their wishes were to 
be gratified, and as o^en have they been disappointed. That there 
is a general desire among the Russians to act against the infidels, 
and to proceed to Constantinople, cannot be questioned ; whether 
the desire is as general or as sincere to assist the Greeks, is a point 
that admits discussion. 

Another feature in the system of Alexander's government has, 
in its results, been extremely unpopular, — we mean the establish- 
ment of the military colonies. These may be briefly described as 
consisting of an immense army, formed from among the crown 
peasants, who, in time of peace, were to be properly trained as sol- 
diers, and also to be occupied in agriculture to an extent sufiicient 
for their own support. Every thing relating to military equipage 
was to be supplied by government ; but, in every other respect, the 
colonies were to sustain themselves. The plan of these colonies is 
said to have been suggested by Count Aracktcheef, who rose from 
the ranks by the force of his talents. The whole sj-stem is generally 
disliked. It is held in utter abhorrence by the peasantry : it is d&- 
tested by the regular army to sucli an extent, thai tlie government 
is obliged to give the officers a higher degree of rank and additional 
pay, in order to induce them to attach tliemselves to colonised 
regiments; and it is highly disapproved of by all classes of the 
nobility. The latter regard the plan as peculiarly dangerous to the 
empire ; for let it be supposed tliat a popular leader, especially ia 
the south of Russia, should differ with the government after a few 
hundred thousand men were taught to obey him, what might he 
not effectuate ? 

From the vehement opposition to this system displayed by all 
classes of society, frorii the generally admitted impolicy of its plan, 
and from the obvious danger with which it threatens the empire, 
it would have been highly prudent in the new Emperor to have 
abandoned these colonies at once ; but, on the contrary, without 
assigning even a specious reason, he has issued an ukaz, ordering 
them to be continued. 

We must now touch upon another powerful cause of discontent 
' B -Russian empke— the revolution tliat has lately taken 



Diidonienfs ih Susiia. 1 7 

in the civil tribunals of that country. Down to a Very receiit pei^i 
a system of bribery and corruption had been established throughout 
all the tribunals of Russia, had been consolidated by time, and ren- 
dered ^ccessively difficult to be eradicated. Even under the most 
vigorous measures of reform, generations may. pass away before a 
rooted habit of oppression and injustice, founded on the corruption 
of the human heart, rivetted by long custom, and countenanced by 
the inadequacy of the ancient salaries to support the officers of the 
crown, can be reduced to a tolerable state of purity. 

Aleximder, duly awake to the horrible state of the courts of 
justice of his country, began a course of improvement which will 
reflect eternal lustre on his memory. One of the earliest measures 
be U}6k was to cause the Governor-General of Siberia, Greneral 
Speranskii, to make an universal and unexpected examination of the 
administration of the principal towns in that remote country. Soon 
afterwards he proceeded to Petersburgh and delivered a report to 
the Emperor, who issued an ukaz, dated the 26th of January, 
1822, by which six hundred and seventy-eight civil officers in Siberia 
were removed, and punished for usury, embezzlement, and oppression 
of the people. In 1823, 1824, and 1825, Alexander steadily pursued 
his plans of reform, with respect to ^e tribunals. A new mode 
of administration was approved by His Majesty for the Kalmucks : 
a new plan for the regulation of the political situation of the Krimea 
Tartars occupied th^ attention of the Minister of the Interior; 
and a total renovation of the laws was talked of for Geor^a 

In consequence of these important changes, a vast number of 
individuals, many of them of high rank and extensively connected 
with society, were openly disgraced or secretly invited to retire 
from office. Against justice and truth they and their parties were 
likely to become enemies of the great judicial improvements of the 
Emperor. Their passions, of course, though concealed, welre 
ready to explode the moment an opportunity offered. 

Alexander was, moreover, placed, for some time before his 
death, in the most painful situation imaginable : between, as it were, 
two powerful and contending elements. On the one hand, he was 
solicited by some of his ofBcers, a few of whom had both high 
rank and influence, to approximate the government of Russia to 
that c^ the other more enlightened states of Europe, and to hasten 
the civilisation of the peasantry, by extending the plans already in 
activity for that purpose ; on the other hand, he was assailed by 
the ministers of foreign courts, some of his own ministers, many 
of the highest, and a host of the less refined of the nobles, by 
the clergy, and by most of the merchants, to stop short in his 
career, to annul hi« former ukazes, to arrest many of his bene- 
Tolent plans, and to commence a retrograde course towards the 
point from which he had started. . Alexander had to balance 
betwixt two great opposing parties : he must either adopt the \ves!i% 
of the armyy and become dependent on its movements, ot \\e xcraiX 
vaL.li. c 




Dicoverits in Afi-ica. 

Bie entreaties of the agents of the Holy AUiflDce, and to 
e of the civilians and the clergy, who disapi^royed of the 
march of mind that had distinguished his reign, and who probably 
were reckless of the charge ot Tacillalion, which naturally enough 
would be brought against their sovereign, or the still mofe serious 
accusation of weakness am! incapacity for govei-nment. 

From the facts which we have here brought together, and which, 
perhaps, fnay not be without some value to politicians in thi* 
country and elsewliere, we believe we are waiTanted in concliidingi 
that Russia feels at this moment germinating m her bosom the 
elements cX a revolution, that will require no great length of time 
to be fully developed. Let the recent conspiracies be palliated as 
they will by acts of amnesty, and by declarations asserting the mutiny 
of llie soldiers and the disaffection of their officers, to have been 
the results of deluded loyalty, Nicholas has but " scotched the 
snake, not killed it." That minister would be the best friend the 
Emperor ever had. Who should have ihe courage to tell hkn that 
the Rastjian officers who marched through GeriHany, the ancient 
temple of liberty, into France, its latest and most extrava^M 
Worshipper, have outgrown the despotism of an autocrat. The 
seeds of education have been too industriously .scattered among ttie 
peCple during the late reign to permit them to remain neutral iw ' 
the contest, which the more enlightened minds of tl»e conntry ate 
preparing to wage against the uncontrolled rule of aai indivii" 
over such ft WdrM of empire. 



I 



Art. in. Narralive of Tra-oeh altd Discoveries in Norihern and Ci 
lYal Africa, in the Years 1822, 1823, and 182*, by Major Denliam, 
Captain Clapperton, and the late Doctor Ouilney, extending across 
the Great Desert to the Tenth Degree of Northern Latitude, and 
from Kouka, in Boruou, to Sackatoo, the Capital of the Felatah Em- 
pire. With an Appendix, Plates, and a Map. 4to. pp. 64*. 
4/. 14s.6t/. London. Murray. 182G. ., 

l HoUGtr not disposed, after a full consideration of their claims 
upon our approbation, to magnify the merits of the two adventur-' 
ons travelers who have presented the public with this pcmdefona 
and costly volume, yet we cannot deny them the praise that is 
always due to perseverance, enterprise, and undaunted coolness^ 
exhibited tinder circumstances of noordinary difficulty and danger. ^ 
Majoi- Denluim particularly seeins to be endowed with a buoyancy \ 
df spirits, which even the severe privations and sufferings inflicted ^i 
by the deserts and climates of Africa appear to have had little \ 
power to affect. Of his prudence we cannot speak so highly. \\ 
Ihdeed we shall have occasion to see that by inconsiderately attach'- \ 
itin- himself to a party of Arabs, who iHid set out upon an expedi- 1 
tion of plunder against (he Fektahs, he not only exposed himself 
. , .t. . _i.i.-» ..x...|g|jg^ of the mission to 9eri<»3jcgmggiigBCr'^ 



DUeooeries in A/Hau 1 9 

but hasnrded die stieoess o( any future attempt that may be made 
to concQiate one of the iQost powerful and intelligent tribes in 
central Africa. We admit, of course, tbi^ bis motive in joining 
the expedition was to use the opportunity which it afibrded him of 
penetrating a country befoi*e untrodden by Europeans, and we can- 
not but admire the firmness which he displayed on the occasion* 
But if be had consulted his colleagues, or had given the matter 
sofficient eonsideration, we presume that he would 'have abstained 
from the course which he pursued. Not only was it incumbent oa 
hkn as a British soldier to avoid the ranks of a predatory band, 
but it was inconsistent with policy, which should have overruled 
every other suggestion, to take the part of <Nie tribe against another, 
in a country where the different tribes are in a state of constant 
matual hostility, and where it is our interest, or at least our desire, 
to concnliate every portion of the population. 

CaptaiD Clapperton seems to have conducted that part of the ex«» 
pedition which was allotted to him with singular prudence and 
socoess. He was fortunate, indeed, in being placed among nations 
less savage than those \i4iom Major Denham visited, and this good, 
fortune he improved to its utmost extent by his conciliatory mani> 
ners, taking care, at the same time, to preserve, in every situation^, 
the respect due to his uniform and his rank. Perhaps he carried 
this feeling, on some occasions, a little farther than he need have 
done, in refusing, like some of our Oriental ministers, to. salute the 
reigning authorities according to the established custom of their 
country. Such pride is, of all others, the last that should be che* 
rished by an officer who is engaged in the public service, and whose 
bcKtness it is to advance that object, even at the expense of little 
personal compliances with etiquette, that really ai^notin themselves 
worth a moment's consideration. They are the tax which savage 
vanity requires of superior civilisation, and it ought to be paid with 
readiness and good humour. 

Dr. Oudney's share in the contents of this volume is, unfortu^ 
nitfely, very little, and that little uninteresting. Before he left 
Europe be was afflicted in his lungs, and the variable climates 
whidi be encountered in Africa materially accelerated his dissolu- 
tion. His premature death was a severe loss to the mission^ as his 
acqoistions in geology and in literature were incomparably supe* 
rior to those of his companions. In consequence of the early 
fiiSure of his assistance, tlieir journals are extremely defective in 
one of the most essential qualifications of a book of travels, aa 
accurate and animated description of the &ce of the country, the 
character of its mountains^ and of its mineral and vegetable praduc- 
tions. Neither Denham nor Clapperton has given us any intelligil^ 
sketches of tbe «eenery which they traversed, if we except two or 
three of the plates ; and when we arrive at the end of their labour^ 
we are akooaiBS ignorant of the general features of the country 
dirongb wMcli we nave accompeni^ them as when we eel qk^ »• 

c 2 



Discoveries in Afiica. I 

is for tbis reason, we presume, that Mr, Barrow, who edits Ciapper- 
ton's journal, characterises that officer and his colleague as "pioneers 
of discovery," clearing the way for others who may corae after them 

rather than as masters of the road themselves. To this praise ' 
ihey are entitled, and we must add, also, that they fortunately were 

able to take solar and lunar observations, which have enabled them i 
to contribute some very important additions to the geograpliy of 

Africa, as well • as to correct several extravagant errors which "had i 
long prevailed in it. 

The real extent of their ' Discoveries' is so limited as to have i 

produced in us something like a feeling of disappointment, which i 

was not a little aggravated by the pompous appearance of tf» . 

voUime, and promises of the preface, as well as the reports which a 

have for some time prevailed of the extraordinary success that i 

attended the mission. We are not favoured with the instructions j 

which were given to it by the noble Secretary for tlie Colonial De- « 

partment, but we believe that its principal object, so far as geogra- , 

phy was concerned, was to follow up the mission of Mr. Ritchie ,, 

and Captain Lyon, to ascertain the course of the Niger. This im- i, 

portant question the recent mission has, however, only involved in . 

greater obscurity than ever. The chief political purpose of the ^ 

mission was to reach Timbuctoo, and this it left wholly unaccom- ^ 

plished. , 

In order to effect both these leading pointi. Captain Clapperton, ,] 

Dr. Oiidney,and Major Denham, were directed to proceed by Tripoli ^ 

to Mourzuk and Kouke, both in a line nearly due south of Tripoli. , 
The two former officers made a short excursion from Moui-zuk 

westwards, but their final purpose was to proceed from Kouka west- . 
wards to Timbuctoo, while Major Denham was stli! to penetrate 
as far sonth as he could, and occasionally to explore the countries 

in an eastern direction. ' 

The mission left Tripoli in March, 1822, provided with a suf- ^ 

ficlent number of horses, camels, and servants, and contrary to the ^ 

usual custom of English travellers in Africa, they wore their usual * 

English dresses. It is satisfactoi-y to find that on no occasion had ^ 

they reason to regret their determination on this point. On their ' 

arrival at Sockna, half-way between Tripoli and Mourzuk, they * 

were welcomed by the governor and principal inhabitants, accom- * 

panted by hundreds of the country people, who repeatedly hailed '' 

the strangers as " Inglesi ! Inglesi !" They reached Mourzuk on " 

the 7th of April, without experiencing any other inconveniences ^\ 

than those so usual in Africa, the want of good water, and now and ^ 

then n sand-sEorm. Here, however, they experienced a severe dis- *• 

appointment. Though they had letters to the Sultan of Mourzuk, ^ 

from the Bashaw of Tripoli, directing that every assistance should * 

be given in order to forward them on their journey southward, ^ 

they were told that they could not proceed to Bornou without an '^ 

escort of 'two hundred men, and that the preparations for tliis pur< '^ 



Diseaoeries in Afiiea, 21 

pose would necessarily detain them at Mourzuk until the following 
spring. Major Denham returned to Tripoli^ to represent tkis un- 
expe^ed state of things to the Bashaw. The result was, that, after 
some delajy Boo-KhaToom^ a rich merchant of the interior, who hap- 
pened to be at Tripoli, was appointed, with an escort, to convey toe 
mission to Bomou. 

Thb Boo-Khaloom was an extraordinary sort of^ person,— half 
merchant half bandit, — who exercised very considerable influence 
on the subsequent proceedings of the' mission. He headed the 
escort, numnteid on a beautiful white Tunisian horse, the peak and 
rear of his saddle covered with gold, and his housings of scarlet 
cloth, richly bordered. His dress was also very splenaid, and con- 
sidering himself as the representative of the Bashaw, he assumed an 
imposing air of authority. The escort consisted chiefly of Arabs, 
under the command of their own Sheikh, whose enlistment was pro- 
cured upon conditions unknown at the time to Denham, but which 
afterwards oe(*asioned no little trouble to all the parties. The 
cavalcade, or, to use the African term, the kafila, entered Mourzuk 
on the 30th of October, where Denham found his colleagues con- 
fined to their beds by severe illness, and both extremely reduced in 
their persons. 

Dr. Oudney and Captain Clapperton had whiled away some of 
the months of the distressing interval, that had elt^sed between Ma- 
jor Denham's journey to Tripoli and return to Mourzuk, in an 
excursion to Ghraat, to the westward of Mourzuk, of which we 
have an imperfect journal from the pen of the Doctor.. He describes 
the greater number oF the inlmbitants as Tuaricks, who dif&r con- 
siderably from the people of Fezzan. They are of a warlike appear- 
ance ; and in order to preserve their features from the influence of 
the sun, they muffle them up, so as to leave but a small part visible. 
They are fond of a nomade or wandering life, and have a sovereign 
contempt for those who live in viUages or towns. The country is 
mountainous, and the Tuaricks usually prefer the most secluded 
parts of it for their temporary abode. Dr. Oudney foiMid,. in the 
course of his excursion, a Roman building, whence ))e supposed 
that this was the road taken by some of the legions into the interior. 
In a valley called Trona, he saw a lake, from which a considerable 
quantity of that substance is obtained. Trona, or carbonate of soda, 
is formed by crystallisation at the bottom of the lake, when the water 
is sufficiently saturated. The cakes vary in thickness from a ^e 
film to two or three inches. In the winter it is thickest a^d best; 
and the lake, though small, yields 400 or 500 camel-loads of. it 
every year. It is very much used throughout northern A&ica^fi^r 
its medicinal qualities: a considerable portion is sent to , Tkvi|K>l|, 
whence it finds its way to foreign markets. ..._,, ,,^ 

£ wry exertion was made by Boo-Khaloom to get away as s6o;^ps 
possible frotn Mourzuk, which is an extremely Unbea\t)^;Y^i^^Ci^« 
Mr. Ritchie and Captain Lyon had suffered severely duxvivg tSftfeVt 

c 3 



Discffvaies in Africa. ^H 

stay tliere ; and all the membeTs of the present mission were affiicte^ ^ 
while they wer« detnined in tlint town, with one complaint or aft- «■ 
ether. I'l'om the numerons arrangements, however, wliich vex* am 
necessary to be made for the provisioning of so many persons, during m 
a journey through a country destitute ot all resources, Boo-Khalooni iq 
was not able to complete his preparations, until the 29th of Novem- m 
ber, when the niission quitted Mourzuk for Kouka. They had a ^^ 
most Intiguing time of it in the early part of their route. The wells «, 
were generally surrounded by the bleaciied skeletons of slaves, who ^ 
had been left tp perish there by their savage masters. Upon arrivinff „, 
in the Tibboo country, they found numerous villages, and wells, and n_ 
lakes, that produced great quantities of salt and trona. The inha- ^ 
bitants were, however, industrious and hospitable ; and those in the .. 
large towns, particularly the females, were of a superior class, * some 
having extrenaely pleasing features, while the pearly white of thdr j^ 
regular teeth was beautifully contrasted with the glossy black <rf ^ 
their skin.' After leaving Bilma, they had to bid adieu to eveir ^ 
appearance of vegetable pi-oduclion, and to enter on a desert, whiw , 
required thirteen days to cross. The road lay over loose liills of ^' 
fine smkI, in which the camels sunk nearly knee-deep. The only ;- 
landmarks by which the traveller can steer his course in these wUcB ^ 
are certain points in the dark sandstone-ridges, which from time to — 
time raise their heads in the midst of this dry «cean of sand, tbrtbe ^ 
face of the desert is constantly changed by the winds, whi(^ shift ^ 
the sand-hills from place to place. ^ 

' Tremendously dreary are these marches ; as far as the eye ean a 
reach, billows of sand bound the prospect. On seeing the solitary foot- e 
passenger of the kafila, with his water -flask in his hand, and bag cf 2U.- g 
meeta (parched corn) on his head, sink at a distance beneath one of 
these (sand hills), as he plods his way alone, hoping to gain a. few paces 
in his long day's work, by not following the track of the camels, one A 
trembles for hig safety : — the obstacle passed which concealed him ' 
froRi the view, the eye is strained towards the spot in order to be assured *• 
that he has not been buried quick in the treacherous overwhelming « 
sand.' — Denhani, p. 29. 1 

After the travellers quitted the desert, the face of the counti^ ■ 
gradually improved, until they arrived at Lari, where they had fii*t ' 
a view of tiie great lake Tchad, ' glowing with the golden rays of ' 
the sun in its strength.' — 'My heart,' says Major Denham, 'bounded | 
within me at this prospect, for I believed this lake to be the k-ey to 
the great object of our search.' This belief, however, he ultimately ' 
iailed to strengthen into certainty, nor indeed has he added to itany ' 
thing by way of support beyond very loose conjecture. The lake 
was covered with a multitude of birds ; and near its borders Major 
Denliam saw a herd of upwards of one hundred and fifty elephantB 
feedjng.in grounds which are annually overflowed by .its ^'aters. 
Soijie oif diese huge animals he represents to be sixteen feethighr 
s bulk, if, indeed, the Major be not mistaken. Thekj' 



leJ^J 



,J}ise9Qeriei in Africa. SS 

fila, on their approach to Kouka, vaded through a still water called 
Chugelarem, which wa^ said to be a branch of the Tchad, aixl to be 
incr^sed considerably by the overflowings of that lake in the rainy 
season. They also, crossed a very considerable river called the 
Yeou, ' in $ome parts more than fifty yards wide, with a fine hard 
sandy bottom, and banks nearly perpendicular, and with a strong 
carrent running three miles and a half in an hour to the eastward.' 
One of the Arabs said that this was the Nile, and that it ran into 
die Tchad. Upon this inibrmation, however, no dependence coutd 
be placed, as U is well known that the name of the Nile b popularly 
given to many rivers besides the one to which it alone belongs. The 
Yeou is at times considerably wider and deeper than the kafila 
fouud it, and it ijs represented on the map as flowing into the great 
lake. 

Before the mission entered Kouka, (on the 17th of February, 
1823,) they were in a state of great uncertainty as to the manner in 
which they should be received there. They were the first Euro- 
peans who had approached so near it. The accounts which they 
pad conperning its population were confused and contradictory, and 
they did not know whether ^ they should find its chief at the head 
of tbousazids, or be received by him under a tree surrounded by a 
few naked slaves*' What, then, must have been their surprise to see 
Kxm in front of them a body of several thousand cavalry, drawn up 
inline, mounted on small but perfect horses, and regulating all 
their movements with admirable precision and expertness ! '^Fhe 
Sheikh's first General, Barca Gana, appeared to be ' a negro of a 
noble aspect, clothed in a figured silk tobe' (shirt), and the Sheikh's 
body-guard of negroes were habited in ^ coats of mail, composed of 
iron chain,, which covered them from the throat to the knees, divid- 
ing behind, and coming on each side of the horse : some of them 
had helmets, or rather skull-caps, of the same metal, with chin« 
pieces, all sufiiciently strong to ward off the shock of a spear. Their 
horses' heads were also defended by plates of iron, brass, and silver, 
jobt leaving sufiBcient room for the eyes of the animal.' The repre- 
sentation given in one of the plates of a negro thus mounted and 
equipped resembles in every thing but the helmet and countenance 
an European knight in the chain-armour of the chivalrous ages. 
After a good deal of ceremony, the mission were admitted within 
the gates of Kouka, and kindly received by the Sheikh, whose 
personal appearance was prepossessing, animated by an expressive 
countenance and a benevolent smile. He had previously ordered 
hgts to be built for them, and told them he would be happy to 
gratify their wish^ in every respect. At their next interview the 
Sheikh betrayed a s^rk of that vanity which seems to be natural to 
man in eveiy clime iaU|d in every st^ge of society. 

' The Sheikh showed evident satisfaction at our assurance, that the 
King of England had heard of Bornou and himself; and immediately 
turning to hjs IfBgaioawha (coaoBelJor), said, *^ This is in eonfteqvvewc^ o^ 

c 4 



S4 Discojseties in Africa. ^B 

our defeating the Begharnnis." Upon which the chief who had mo«t 
distinguisheiThiniKelf in these mem orabie battles, Bagah Furby, (the ga- 
therer of horseH)) seating himself in front of us. demanded, *' Did he ever 
Lear of me ?" The inamediate reply of " Certainlij" did wonders for our 
cause. Exclamations were general; and, " Ah! then, your King 
must be a great man !" was re-echoed from every side.' — Denham, 
p. 6fi. 

The travellers liad presents of provisions, not in baskets, but b^ 
camel-loads. Bullocks, wheat, rice, butter, honey, and fish, were 
placed before their huts in such abundance, that ttie Sheikh must 
have had an extraordinary idea of their powers of consumption. 
One of the Erst novelties which they witnessed at Kouka was the 
market. 

' Slaves, sheep, and bullocks, the latter in great numbers, were the 
principal live stock for sale. There were at least fifteen thousand per- 
sons gathered together, some of them coming from places two and three 
days distant. Wheat, rice, and gussub, were abundant : tamarinds in the 
pod, ground nuts, ban beans, ochroes, and indigo; the latter is very 
good, and in great use amongst the natives, to dye their tobes (shirts) 
and linep, stripes of deep indigo colour, or stripes of it alternately with 
white, being highly esteemed by most of the Bornou women : the leaves 
are moistened, and pounded up altogether when they are formed into 
lumps, and so brought to market. Of vegetables there was a great 
scarcity — onions, bastard tomatoee, alone were offered for sate ; and of 
fruits not any \ a few limes, which the Sheikh had sent us from hia gar- 
den, being the qnly fruit we had seen in Bornou. Leather was in great 
auantities ; and the skins of the large snake, and pieces of the skin of 
le crocodile, used as an ornament for the scabbards of tJieir daggers, 
were also brought to me for sale ; and butter, leban (sour milk), honey, 
and wooden bowls, from Soudan. The costumes of the women, who for 
the moat part were the vendors, were various : those of Kanem and Bor- 
nou were most numerous, and the former was as becoming as the latter 
had a contrary appearance. The variety in costume amongst the ladies 
consists entirely in the head-ornaments ; the only diflerence, in the scanty 
covering which is bestowed on the other parts of the person, lies in the 
choice of the wearer, who either ties the piece of linen, blue or white, 
under the arms^ and across the breasts, or fastens it rather fantastically 
on one shoulder, leaving one breast naked. The Kaneraboo women have 
small plaits of hair hanging down all around the head, quite to the poll 
of the neck, with a roll of leather or string of little brass beads in front, 
hanging down from the centre on each side of the face, which has by no 
-means an unbecominii appearance: they have sometimes strings of sil- 
ver rings instead of the brass, and a large round silver ornament in front 
of th^ir foreheads. The female slaves from Musgow, a large kingdom 
to tl^e, S{Outh-east of Mandata, are particularly disagreeable in their ap- 
pearance, although considered as very trustworthy, ar ' 
labour; their hair is rolled up in three large plaits, \ 
the forehoad to the back of the uock, like the Bornowy ; one larger in 
the centre, and two smaller on each side : they have silver studs in their 
nose,, and one large one just under the lower lip of the size of a shilling, 
which- gpss quite through into the mouth ; to make room for this orna- , 
meni, a tooth or two is sometimes displaced.' — Denham, pp. 69, 70. n 



Discooeries in Afriau 25 

Purchases are chiefly made by barter, or paid for by small 
beads, pieces of coral and amber, or coarse linen, which all the 
people manufacture, and is sold at the rate of forty yards for a dol- 
lar. The mission had not been many days at Kouka, when, through . 
Boo-Khaloom, they received word from the Sheikh that *they should 
be welcome to see any part of his dominions, but that out of them 
he could not suffer the mission at present to go.' The truth is, 
that diese uncivilised rulers of central Africa have no conception of 
the motives which can induce foreigners to penetrate their remote 
and unhealthy dominions. They do not understand the curiosity 
of intelligent minds, and they suspect that some attack is secretly 
meditatea against their own power, some design intended against 
their possessions or those of their people. It was even reported at 
Koaka, that one of the purposes of the mission was to build ships, 
in which they should embark upon the Tchad, and return to their 
own country, and then that the white people would come and de- 
stroy them all ! Some countenance was probably given to this 
rumour, by the fact that they were attended by a ship- carpenter, 
Hillman, who was found a very useful and faithful servant of the 
mission. The rumour, however, seems to have originated with 
some Mourzuk merchants, who had preceded them, and who no 
doubt apprehended that their trade in slaves, and in the produce of 
the country, would be injured by the strangers. Through the influ- 
ence of Boo-Khaloom, however, the Sheikh was undeceived, and the 
presents which the mission gave him had a wonderful effect in their 
favour. He and the people of the town were particularly astonished 
by some rockets which were displayed for their amusement. Major 
Denham gives us the following as a sample of the best residences in 
Koidca. The habitation belonged to one of the Sheikh's principal 
shouas, and consisted of two inclosures, besides one for his horses, 
cows, and goats. 

* In the first of these divisions was a circular hut, with a cupola top, 
well thatched with gussub straw, something resembling that of the In- 
dian corn : the walls were of the same materials ; a mud wall, of 
about two feet high, separated one part from the rest, and here his corn 
was kept ; and a bench of like simple composition, at the opposite side, 
was his resting-place : this was covered with mats ; and his spears, and 
wooden bowls for water and milk, hung on pegs, completed the furni- 
ture : here was his own apartment. In the second division there were 
two huts, rather smaller, about ten paces from each other, in which 
dwelt his two wives : they were called to the door, and desired to salute 
me ; but on looking up, uttered a scream, and hiding their faces with 
their hands, crept back again so quickly, as to niake me almost ashamed 
of my complexion.' — Denham, pp. 75, 76. 

Kouka is a very considerable town, and at the distance of sixteen 
miles from it is Angornou, also a large and populous town, where 
the Sheikh resided before he built Kouka. Two miles farther south, 
stands. Bimi^ which is walled^ and is supposed to coniam \,^\!VA}ti!OtVr 



Discoveries in Africa. 



T^ 



sand inhabiuntfi, who reside in huts similar to those in Kouka. Tiu 
travellers visited Angornou and Biinie in company with fioo-Kba- 
loom. At the latter place they were received by the Sultan with the 
most prodigal hospitality. No fewer than seventy dishes of matton 
and poultry, baked, boiled, and stewed, were sent to their residence 
fur their dinner, each of which would have served at leapt half-«r 
dozen persons. The Sultan reigns by sufferance of the Sheikh j and 
though he lives in a mud-edifice he affects all the pomp, folly, and 
bigotry of the ancient negro sovereigns, 

' Large bellies and large heads are indispensable for those who serre 
the court of Bornou ; and tliost? who unfortunately possess not the 
former by nature, or on whom lustiness will not be forced by cramcniog, 
malce up the deficiency of protuberance by a wadding, which, as they 
EJt on the horse, gives the belly the curious appearance of hanging ovpf 
tlie pummel of the saddle. The eight, ten, and twelve shirts, of different 
colours, that they wear one over the other, help a little to increase Uiit 
greatness of person : the head is enveloped in folds of muslin or linen 
of various colours, though mostly white, so as to deform it as much as 
possible \ and those whose turban seemed to be the most studied had 
the effect of making the head appear completely on one side. Besides 
this, they are hung all over with charms, inclosed in little red leather 
parcels, strung together ; the horse, also, has them round his neck, in 
front of his head, and about the saddle.' — Denham, pp. 78, 79- 

The Sultan generally appears to his court in a sort of cage ; be is 
distinguished by wearing a larger turban than any of his subjects, and 
his face, frorp the nose downwai'ds, is completely covered. Angor- 
nou is represented as the largest and most populous town of Dornou. 
It is said to contain at least Uiirty thousand inhabitants, and the huts 
are generally more commodious and extensive than those of Kouka. 
There is a public market once a-week, which the natives said w^s 
attended in peaceable times sometimes by eighty or a hundred thou- 
sand persons. Fish, flesh, and fowls, are abundant there. Tha 
ouly vegetables are tomatas and onions. Linen is so cheap that 
the males generally wear shirts and trowsers. Want of the latter 
bespeaks extreme poverty. The principal demand is for amber and 
coral ; pieces of brass are also much sought after, and readily l;rinc ' 
money, whereas ail other sorts of merchandise are paid for in ' 
slaves, or tobes. The men are well grown, but the mouth is large, ' 
the lips thick, and to a stranger the features appear ugly. Beauty * 
of tliis description is all relative. Many of tlie people in the mar- ' 
Jtet, when they saw the white English faces, ran away from thein ' 
' irresistibly affrighted ' It would seem, however, that niitm-e has ' 
constructed the orgujis of bearing in every order of the human race 
upon the same plan. Upon Denham's return to Kouka he showed ' 
the Sheikh a musical box. 

' He was at first gi-eatly astonished, and asked several questions, ex- 
claiming, " Agieb.' gie&l" " Wonderful! wonderful I" but the sweet- 
11^4 of ^@:i|pyii« ftaaz-des-Vaches which it played, at laatiM 



Discoveries in jffrica* 27 

erery other feeling : he covered his face with his haad aod listened in 
silence; and on one man near him breaking the obarm by a loud ex- 
clamation, he struck him a blow which made all his followers tremble* 
He instantly asked, ** If one twice as large would not be better ?" J 
said " Yes^ but it would be twice as degr." — " By G — !" said he, " if 
one thousand dollars would purchase it, it would be cheap*" * — Den- 
ham, p. 85* 

The Major very adroitly presented the box to the Sheikh, and 
thus advanced at once to the highest degree of intimacy and favour 
with him. This circiunstance Denham turned to immediate advan- 
tage, by obtaining permission to visit the Tchad, which lies about 
Meen miles eastwanl from Kouka. He observed ^ evident proofs 
of its overflowings jBXxd recedings near the shores ; but beyond was 
an expanse of waters, as far as the eye could reach east and south- 
east' Tlie l^ke produces fine mullet, in great abundance, which is 
easily raptured, and almost as easily cooked ; ^ a stick is run through 
the mouth of the fish, aixl quite along the belly to the tail : this stick 
is then stuck in the ground, with the head of the fish downwards, 
and inclined towards the fire, and by turning them constantly by the 
tail, they are most excellently dressed.' Great numbers of elephants, 
bufl&loes, and antelopes, were seen in tlie neighbourhood of the 
lake ; but it is infested by such myriads of mosquitoes, and other 
venomous insects, that it is scarcely possible for man or beast to re* 
main long on its immediate borders. Had it not been for this in- 
tolerable nuisance, Denham says that as he pursued the course of 
the water he saw spots where ne could with delight have pitched 
his tent for a week. Sopie of the villages through which he passed 
were quite new, and occupied by emigrants from Kanemboo, * than 
whom,' he says, * I never saw handsomer or better formed people.' 
On this occasion, however, Denham acquired little information con- 
cerning the lake, his excursion was limited, and he returned to 
Kouka. 

We have already said that the real motives of the Arabs in join- 
ing the escort under Boo-Khaloom were not quite apparent at the 
commencement of the journey. They now became much more so. 
Boo-Khaloom's purpose was to dispose of his merchandise to the 
best advantage : the great object of the Arabs was to be led to 
Mandara upon an expedition of plunder, or, as they call it, a 
ghrazzie. They began to mutiny ; and were so violent, that Boo- 
Khaloom was obliged to yield to their demand, although it is due to 
his memory to say that he resisted the scheme as far as it was pos- 
sible. It was to this expedition that Major Dembara so impru- 
dently, as we think, attached himself, in order to have an opportu- 
nity of exploring the Mandara country. He took this step against 
the positive directions of his friend the Sheikh ; and, after some de- 
lay, on the 17th of April, he joined the Arabs and the Sheikh's 
people on their march, the former under the command of Boo- 
Khalaom, the lat|;er under Barca Gana, already mendou^* TWvc 



SS Discoveries in Africa. 

course was due south of Kouka. Tiiey passed on the 18th and L 
ihrougli Deegoa, n large walled town, containing a population I 
thirty thoiisanil; Aifagay, another large and populous town, i 
several villages. The road consisted of several narrow paths, pt 
able onlv for one horse at a time, and these obstructed by pridj 
trees which hang over them. Twelve pioneers, who carried I 
forketl poles, were employed to keep back the branches; and as t 
moved on, they gave animation to the march, by perpetually c 
ing out something about the road, 

' For example: " Take care of the holes! — avoid the branches t3 
Here is the road ! — take care of the tulloh ! — its branches are lita 
Bpears — worse than spears ! Keep off the branches !" — " For whom ?" ( 
" BarcaGana." — "Who in battle is like roiling of thunder?" — " Barcx 
Gana !" — " Now for Mandara ! — now for the Kerdies ! — now for the 
battle of spears ! — Who is our leader?" — " Barca Gana." — " Here is 
the wadey, but no water." — "God be praised!" — "In battle, who 
spreads terror around him like a buffalo in his rage ?" — " Barca Gana.'' ' 
— Denham, p. 106. 

On the 20th they reached Delahay, ' a spot suriounded by large 
wide- spread ing acacias, affording a delightful shade' and abundance 
of excellent water, a most acceptable blessing where the ther- 
mometer was seldom under US'* in the most secluded place. The 
first town which they entered in Mandara is called Delow : it 
contains 10,000 inhabitants, has springs of good water, and in the 
neighbouring vallies are odoriferous shrubs and fig-trees. They 
. were received in a friendly manner by the Sultan of Mandara, who 
met them on a rising ground, surrounded by five hundred horse- 
men, who were finely dressed in Soudan tobes of different colour^ 
bornouses of coarse scarlet cloth, and large turbans of white or 
dark cotton. Their horses were beautiful, and they managed them 
with great skill. ' Tlie Sultan's guard was composed of thirty 
of his suns, all mounted on very superior horses, clothed in striped 
silk tobes ; and the skin of the tiger-cat and leopard formed their 
shabracks, which hung fully over their horses' haunches.' The 
Sultan was an intelligent little man of about fidy, with a beard 
dyed ' of a most beautiful sky-blue.' Upon learning that Major 
Denham was not Moslem, he had no further intercourse with him. 
The Sultan refused permission to Boo-Khaloom to invade the 
country of the Kerdies, an inferior tribe, which supplies the Sultan 
with numerous slaves. Boo-Khaloom asserted the Kerdies to be 
Christians, but Denbnm disbelieved bim, from the uncouth ap- 
pearance which some of them exhibited, and their propensity to 
eat horse-flesh ; he had, however, no means of ascertaining whether 
the asseition was really devoid of foundation. After being delayed 
some days by the indecision of the Sultan, the marauders moved, 
on the 25th of April, to the east of Dclow. The country is here 
mountainous. Jn the vallies they found verdure and shade, and 
mous trees called gubberah, which re- 



Discoveries in Africa. 99 

semble the fig^ti'ee without its fruit. Their trunks comknotily 
measure ten an4 twelve yards in circumference near the root, and 
their branches sometimes cover more than half an acre of ground* 
As the party advanced, the mountain-scenery improved in beauty 
and richness, and they saw before them, to the south, mountains 
sdil higher and more magnificent. They proceeded through a 
frightful and difficult pass called the Horza, aftet* which nature 
seemed to wear a new dress. Flowers, vegetables, and fruits, were, 
abundant. On the road the expedition was joined by the Sultan 
of Mandara, with a considerable force ; and the whole body now 
exceeding three thousand men, they formed into regular columns 
on the morning of the 28th, and proceeded to attack some small 
towns inhabited by the Felatahs. 

We have already observed that the Felatah tribe, or rather 
tribes, are exceedingly powerful in the interior of Africa. They 
extend through the whole of Soudan quite to Timbuctoo, and they 
are found in great numbers at D'jennie on the QuoUa. They have 
a peculiar language of their own. ITiey are Moslem, and a hand- 
some as well as brave race of people, wholly distinct from the 
negroes, and of a deep copper colour. They had several times con- 
quered Mandara, but were at last driven from it to the mountains 
by the present Sultan, who deemed them a most formidable enemy, 
and was rejoiced at having an opportunity of directing the energies 
of Boo-Khaloom and his Arabs against them. After burning 
Dirkulla and another small town near it, and putting to death, 
or consigning to the flames, the few inhabitants who were found iu 
them, consisting chiefly of infants and aged persons unable to 
escape, they proceeded to attack Musfeia, in latitude 9*^ 10' north, 
which was built on a rising ground among the mountains, and capaible 
of being defended against double the force now brought against it. 
It was defended very resolutely by the Felatahs, whose weapons 
were the spear and bow and poisoned arrow. The Arabs soon 
took flight, a course of proceeding in which they were instantly 
followed by their auxiliaries, the Sultan leading the way. Major 
Denham's horse was disabled by an arrow-wound, and it was 
with great difficulty he fled from the field, after being stripped ab- 
sdlutely naked by the Felatahs. The narrative of his escape iai 
highly interesting, but too long to be extracted. All their baggage 
was abandoned to the enemy, and numbers of the itivaders were 
speared to death, or sunk under the effects of the poisoned-arrow 
wounds4 Among them perished Boo-Khaloom himself, who was 
wounded by an arrow in the foot. Thus terminated this expedition, 
in the signal discomfiture of those who planned it iti inju^tiCe^ atid, 
as iar as they were permitted, carried it on with cruelty. Msjjoir 
Denham unfortunately acquired little in the way of his missioh to 
Qoropensate him for the severe sufferings which he most tinhie- 
cessarity brought upon himself. 



so Discoveries in Africa. 

Musfeia is diatant from Kouka about 230 miles, but sucli WM 
the haste willi which the Arabian remnants of the expedition 
retreated, that Major Denham and they arrived at Koukn in abonl 
seven days after tlie battle. He lost almost every thing, his trunk, 
linen, canteens, azimuth-compass, drawing- case, and some sketcbei 
of the Mandara mountaiiM. The inhabitants were unanimous in 
reporting that ' these mountains extend southward for two monihi^ 
journey ; and one who represented he had been twenty days south 
of Mandara said that he had travelled over mountains ten times 
higher than those of Mandara : he called them " mountiuns of the 
moon." ' If this account be true, and it is by no means im- 
probable, the obvious conjecture is, that they belong to the same 
chain as the moon -mountains in which the Nile is supposed to take 
its rise. The same person spoke of several rivers and lakes which 
he saw in the course of his journey, one of which he represented 
as flowing eastward to the Nile. 

On his return from Musfeia, Major Deiiham, accompanied by 
Dr. Oudney, made an excursion westward to Soudan (now io 
ruins) with the iSheikh, who marched through that country in order 
to reduce the Munga people to obedience. The object of the 
expedition was effected, by the Sheikh's tact and management 
without any fighting, which was of the more importance, as thejr 
are a powerful race, and can bring ten thousand bowmen into the 
fieW. They are described as having all the simplicity, good nature^ 
and ugliness of the people of Bornou. The chief object of Dr. 
Oudney's and Major Denham's attention was the river Gambarou, 
which is said, in some parts, to be as wide as the Thames at 
Windsor, but the water appeared quite stationary. They wer« 
told, however, that in the rainy season it flows in a strong current 
eastward, and in the map it is made to join the Yeou, which is 
tributary to the Tchad. 

During the rainy season, the mission remained at Kouka. 
Rains incessantly fall during the mouths of August and September, 
increasing every day till about the latter part of September, when 
they sensibly diminish. This corresponds with the inundation of 
the Nile, which is at its height ou the 25th of September ; but still 
it does not proVe the existence of any communication between the 
Tchad and thatmighty stream. During the rains, almost the whole 
iaice of the country round Kouka is covei-ed with the waters ; and the 
probability is, that when the bed of the lake overflows, a great portion 
of the superincumbent weight of waters finds its way into the Nile 
through many channels which, when the inundation is subsided^ 
are no longer visible. While \ht rains prevailed, all the members 
of the mission, and, indeed, the greater number of the inhabitants) 
were extremelj' ill at Kouka. Towai-ds the latter end of October, 
cool winds purified the air; and about the middle of December 
Di\ Oudney and Captain Clapperton set out with a kafila on 
their journey westward, while Major Denham, who about tbtt 



JUscoceriet in Africa. % 1 

sdtde time was joined fay a new colleague, Lieutenant Toole, 
proceeded on an excursion to Lo^un, to the south-east of Kouka^ 
in order to explore the course of the fiver Shary. In this object 
they were foiled by the fear or jealousy of the Sultan of Loggun ; 
and in the course of their journey the climate M^as fatal to 
Mr. Toole^ who is represented by his companion to have been a 
yoang oflh;er of great promise. In the following April (ISS^) 
Mr. Tyrwhit, who, we believe, was appointed to act as consul at 
Kouka, arrived there, and in June he accompanied Major Denham 
on an expedition to the eastern side of the Tchad, which was un-* 
attended by any satisfactory results. We regret to learn that 
Mr. Tyrwhit has also &llen a victim to the climate. After an ex- 
cursion, equally fruitless, to the north-eastern banks of the Tchad^ 
Major Denham and Captain Clapperton (who had returned from 
his western journey) repassed their former road to Tripoli, said 
after an absence of three years reached England in safety. 

The limitation of our space prevents us from following Captain 
Clapperton in his very interesting journal. Dr. Oudney died at 
Murmur, and his companion, from causes which lie does not detail, 
was not able to penetrate farther westward than Sackatoo, which, as 
well as a great part of the country round it, is under the rule of 
the Felatahs. One of the first questions asked by the Sultan 
Bello related to Major t)enham's appearance with the party of 
Boo-Kbaloom in that unfortunate expedition against the Felatahs 
at Musfeia. Captain Clapperton endeavoured to explain the matter 
as well as he could. BeUo is described as an extremely intell^ent 
person, very anxious to enter into commercial relations with !&)g- 
land, iov which the proximity of his dominions to the Bight of 
Benin affords great facilities* He has also promised to do every 
thing in his power to put a stop to the slave-trade, which has been 
principally carried on in that quarter. The whole of the Felatah 
country is described as superior in many respects to those parts of 
Africa, which were traversed by Denham. According to popular 
report Mango Park's death occurred at a very short distance 
from Sackatoo. This town is situated 1 3"^ 4' SS'' north lat. and 
6** 1 2' east long. It is the most populous which Clapperton saw in 
^ica, though oiily twenty years have elapsed since its foundation.- 
Qapperton's visit to it is likely to be attended with the most im-^ 
portant results, as in consequence of an arrangement which 
he made with the Sultan he has already gone out by the way of 
Bemn upon a second mission, most probably empowered by ouf 
gQvemment to enter into arrangements of a permanent nature. 
We may^ tlierefore, look forward to fresh discoveries in northern 
and western Africa, of a more interesting character ; and we do 
feel not a little proud in believing that the extension of British in« 
floence in that quarter wiQ be followed by the utter destruction of 
the slave-trade, the first great step in the civilisation of millions 
' who have hitherto been unknown to Europe. 



In the Appendix the reader will find several very curiouS docu- 
ments; among them two or three letters from African chiefiaius to 
His Majesty, which are quite amusing. 



Art. IV. Mr.BlouTd'sMSS.; being Selections from the Papers of a - 
Man of the World. By the Author of " Gilbert Earle." 2 Vols. ^ 
12rao. Us. London. C. Knight. 1826. ^ 

I HIS romance is of a better class than many of those which we ^ 
have lately seen. It describes the career, less of a man than of a ^. 
mind, and follows this lonely track through a long successioo of _ 
capricious joys and sorrows, wayward fondnesses, and still more .: 
wayward rejections' of happiness, with a painful fidelity. Yet this ^ 
fidelity wants force. It has a pathetic tinge, yet it wants depth of ^ 
colouring. The artist's hand is visible, but it is in vapoury and 
wandering touches. His sunshine has the hue without the heat, hia » 
shower falls glitteringly, but it rather refreshes than clears the atmo- "^ 
sphere or invigorates the soil. ■* 

Nothing could be more captivating to a writer, gifted with the ^ 
great faculty to dip his pencil in the heart, than such a subjecL The * 
rapid summoning up of the spirits that live concealed in our nature, 
but that will come up only when the legitimate passion puts forth ^ 
its voice to summon them ; those fallen angels, obeying none bat ^ 
the call of their great leader ; and then rushing up on the full wing 
from their beds of gloom and fire; the noble conflicts of prift- 
«iple, the strong resolution triimiphing over the strong opportu- * 
nity, the heroic hazards, mental and corporeal, the glowing and "^ 
briUiant gallantry, the stem and haughty suffering, the repelled or /^' 
tlie broken heai t ; all might be included within the range of a pic- ^ 
ture that yet had but a single figure. * 

Among the minor objections to this work we must place the ^^ 
tille. h tells nothing of the purposes of the volume. It even .,^ 
repels liie interest that the volume might excite. There is a harsh- > 
nes^ and even a vulgarity, in some names which the novelist ought i-, 
not to encounter. In actual lite this cannot be helped : we have a ^-t 
cluster of appellative hoyyors even in our highest ranks ; but time, \\ 
the habit of thinking more of the individual than of the name, and •*; 
the consciousness that the disaster is unavoidable, soften down the ^ 
natural repulsion. But the novelist has the choice ; and the choice *" 
of a vulgar nomenclature is visited at once upon himself and his ?* 
bero, Wlio, says Addison, can ever care for the loves or sorrows . , 
of Mr. Clutterbuck? The present writer gives his hero the com' ^* 
mon-place name of filount; and selects for his correspondent the \. 
equally unhappy name of Frewin. The book, however, is not ^ 
common-place ; and the author probably thus disguised his per- y 
Bonnges in order thai he might produce iJie stronger contrast witii t^ 
riie feelings developed in their nnrr^ve. *4 



Blounes MSS. S3 

Mr. Blount begins his * Diary* in the year 1788, in bis youthi 
and apparently in his first entrance into continental Ike. He ends 
it in 1802, in his premature old age, and on the eve of his death. 
The letters are fragments of the long correspondence maintained 
widi his friend, and give sketches of his loves and embarrassments 
down to the period when men neither love nor hate any more. His 
first letter is dated * Tours,' and contains the description of the fair 
one whose image is thenceforth to haunt him. 

* That which caused me to stay here four-and-twenty hours at all, 
was, not a woman, but a broken axletree. Blessings on Dessin'*s/otten 
carriages ! — If mine had stood firm, I should have rolled on the next 
morning after my arrival, and never have dreamt of what I had missed. 
But, luckily, I was detained here sorely against fay will for a day; and 
have now been detained here, very much according to my will, for 

*■ It is a beauti^l country this, hereabouts : the river so fine, and its 
banks so rich, and yet so romantic — and then the (not ^arve^, but) ven- 
dange moon, smiling down upon both so luxuriantly ! Oh ! those moonlight 
walks by the banks of the Loire ! A year's delay were well repaid by 
one of them ! But you are still in the dark as to what I am flymg into 
these raptures about : I promised to begin at the beginning, and I will. 
*• I broke down just without the gates of the town, on a Saturday 
ni^t ; and the next day, being detained, I went to church. The old 
- proverb was verified on the occasion — 

* " Near the church" — you know the rest — 

I confess my thoughts were wholly abstracted from devout subjects, by 
my e^y^'R chancing to light upon one of the loveliest creatures which 
ever crossed their vision, seated at a very short distance from me. She 
seemed tp be about eighteen, and her beauty was equally great and pe- 
culiar. She had more even than the usual darkness of complexion of 
a French woman ; her hair was like jet, her eyebrows and eyelashes 
were, if possible, darker still ; and the latter, from their extreme length, 
appeared to be even more so than they really were. But her eyes were 
blue — deep, rich, transparent blue ; which, with such dark accom- 
paniments, gave an air, certainly, of peculiarity, but of most lovely 
peculiarity, to the expression of ner radiant and speaking countenance. 
Her form was scarcely yet arrived, at its complete fulness, but its out- 
line was perfect ; and a few months, as it seemed to me, would finish 
• the filling up. Altogether, I had scarcely ever seen a more lovely, cer- 
tainly, never a more striking, person. But by this expression you must 
not conceive there was any ostentationt if I may be permitted the word, 
of manner or bearing. On the contrary, the most exquisite delicacy 
was 'spread, like a veil, over this radiant beauty, soflenin^, and yet en- 
hancing, its perfection. You know I am somewhat fastidious, and am 
•HOC ready to think every pretty face a beautiful one ; but this one was 
ao, and I studied it in every light and posture ; for I scarcely removed 
my eyes from it, during the whole service. 

* My first endeavour was to discover who this lady of the Loire might 
be ; in this there was not much difficulty. She was, it seemed, an 
Ilah'an. Her modier had been French, and came from Tours. This 

VOL. II. . D 



Blotinl's MSS. 

niotlier she bad lost Bome bIx years agu, and had then cotB« to resi^j 

fot education, with her matemal aunt. Her education was : 
plete ; and her lather was very shortly expected to arrive, t( 
back to Italy with hiin/ — Vol. i. pp. 6 — 9. 

He gains access to this handsome creature, and obtains her a 
tions; but how lie accomplishes either the reader is left to his 
invention to conceive, for the author gives no intimation oii the a 
ject. Mr. Blount makes tierce love to her for two months, and, I 
tlie end of the time, suddenly sets off for Paris, abandoning An- „ 
tonia, whom he has made as miserable as being desperately in ^ 
love could make her. No reason is assigned : the hero is alike des- n 
perately smitten, weeps, writes raving letters, makes harangues to -t. 
her picture, talks of bout's of felicity, green banks, where niuttial y* 
vows were exchanged, and the moon was surveyed with mutual rap- '■ 
ture; and, after all, turns his chariot-wheels to Paris, and, inbound- * 
less agony at her eternal loss, drives away with his own free will. * 
This may be romantic, but it is altogether unnatural. There is no * 
poverty on the hero's side, no previous engagement, no conflicdng n 
authority, nothing which could, in the most trivial degree, justJ^ uj 
his determination. The result of this deficiency of motive is rtol to 4) 
increase the interest of the story, but to degrade the character of at 
the hero. Mr, Blount, with all his refined feelings and exquisite 1^ 
intellect, is thus actually nothing more than a silly tellow, tot&\if ^■ 
destitute of feeljttg, and merely treacherous, where the author h^ n 
prepared us for honour and delicacy. He who habitually flings k 
away his own happiness, merely to see how far he can fling it irooi u 
him, is less to be pitied than despised ; but he who in this absurd -^ 
experiment is careless how far he may fling the happiness of others ^ 
after it, adds crime to folly. /^ 

The author should have been aware that in all such cases the ^ 
true character is simply hcartlessness and hjpocrisy. A d^gage , 
sentimentalist of this order has no feeling whatever. .. 

But we turn from this improbable delbeation to subjects of more 1 
interest The taking of the ^iistille is supposed to have been wit- 
nessed by the diarist; and that fatal and extraordinary event is veiy < 
graphically described. The scene now changes, and the diarist u 
gives the story of a woman who might have been his own counter 
part, the wife of a man of rank, whom she had married to please , 
her family. Lord Monlore is a proud and cold character, and not 
at all suited to the brilliancy of his young and handsome lady. 

' She was, indeed, originaily one of the most fascinating and delight- ^ 

ful persons in the world. She was extremely lovely, though not of a \ 

calm or regular style of beauty. She was of shorter stature than the 1 

most perfect standard for a woman ; but her form was exquisitely cast, ' 

combining lightness, and delicacy of outline, with the brightest and . 
richest filling up. To the gay and buoyant liveliDess of youth, she 
joined an archness, even an espiV^/me of manner — a smile lurking in 

the glance of the eye, and rippUag upon the beautiful bp — which b«« -1 



Blamifs MSS. i6 

tmjed a kind and degree c^ talent seldom so much developed in such 
eatly youth. Yet he who would, firom these indications, have deduced 
diat she allowed the deeper and stronger feelings to be drowned be* 
neath the bright and sparkling spray of wit and gaiety^ would have been 
far wrong indeed, in the estimate of her character. On the contrary, 
she was one of that class of persons — a class much more numerous 
than is generally supposed — who, being naturally of joyous, elastic, and 
fively temperaments, gave their apparent energies to the light surfaces 
0f things ; and yet> who possess, perhaps even more than, certainly as 
much as, any other description of women, the fire of strong feeHng al- 
ways burning beneath these bright but less ardent coruscations — 
aivaiting only object and occasion to call it into vivid (and to some, un- 
expected) life. Women of this description are calculated, in a most 
emment degree, to give and to experience happiness, if united to a man 
whom they love, and whom they respect ; but they are also calculated 
to experience and to cause the most extreme misery, if they be bound 
to a husband whom they dislike, and hold in slight esteem.' — Vol. i. 
pp.112— 114. 

A failure of congeniality will not^ we are afraid, go far with a 
jury;, bat it is the wand with which novelists habitually feel entitled 
to work all their wonders. In a short time, Blanch discovers that 
her lord is not congenial, and, as all women with their minds fairly 
settled on such a subject will also discover, she ascertains that a Mr. 
Lunky has the requisite congeniality. She accordin^y, in the due 
exercise of the rights of romance and woman, elopes with the new 
lover. Here, however, the novelist gives way to the historian ; and 
it is found (as regularly happens in real life) that the adulterer is 
stilt more contemptuous, cold, and negligent 

The story of tins wilful unfortunate rapidly comes to a close. Kfer 
health has declined when Blount met her again ; and these two sus^ 
eeptibles are on the point of falling in love with each other. How- 
ever, they separate. Blanch is removed to Nice, where she sees 
her former husband, and soon after is left alone by Lumley, who 
4x>ldly returns to England^ She wastes away, and dies. The story 
is prettily told, but nothing can compensate for the choice of the 
satnect The delicate distresses of an adulteress are worn-out topics, 
and unworthy, even if they were new, of the pen of any writer who 
laid claim to public attention. 

Blount now wandiers into Italy^ gives way to licentiousness, and 
consoles himself by the exhausted and idle plea, that life is now in* 
sapportable without strong excitement. This plea answers all sorts 
of purposes with him ; and, on the strength of it, he continues to be 
heartless and seU-satisfied to the end. He at length accidentally 
discovers Antonia, who had long since taken the veil. He attempts 
to prevail vrith her to elope : she refuses ; but, finally, is released 
from her vows, by die breaking up of the convents in the French 
invasion of Italy. Blount had, by this time, returned to England, 
and he writes to her to join him, and proposes to marry her. She 
is lost in sight of the English shore ; and Blount, through ^ \ik& 

D 2 



f6 Bimmt's MSS. 

necessity of excitfiment,' becomes a gambler : this necessity of e; 
ment being here gratuitously presumed to be the thirst of a f 
spirit, not, as it invariably is, tlie common gross appetite of a ( 
bauche for gross gratification. He indulges in sensuality, seductiK 
and play. 

Blount, now in poverty, marries a woman of fortune, of whomil 
grows weary in a. tew weeks; and, in search of excitement, they4 
to the Continent. Blount's second visit to Paris shows him \ 
things changed. 

' Mercy upon me ! how every thing is changed in this town, e 
was here last! To be sure, they have been stirring years which havS 
elapsed since then ; and, with regard to political matters, I was of coune 
pretty well prepared to iind what I have found. But I did not quite * 
expect, though perhaps I ought, so complete a revolution in society * 
alao. The Fauxbourg St. Germain is deserted. — At Versailles, groM " 
grows in the courts. — Instead of a king with powdered hair, d,Ta3e *" 
de pigeon, and a hnbit Fran^ats, I find a consul with lank locks, and |i '' 
General's uniform, reviewing his troops, on a white horse at full gallop. * 
In like manner every vestige, nut only of the vieille cour, but of the '^ 
former state of society altogether, has passed away. No coteries, no B 
peiit souperi, no conversation teeming with subtle corapliments, and *■ 
epigrammatic turns of expression. Every thing now seems active and 4! 
energetic — occasionally coarse, perhaps, and with the faults arising 'ii 
from coarsenes9 ; but, for that very reason, perfectly free from all those *i 
which appertain to frivolity. Society certainly is not so brillant and m- ^i^ 
fined, nor is it nearly so agreeable to those who seek it merely for ^i 
society's sake ; but it bespeaks a much higher and stronger tone to per- > 
vade men's minds in general throughout the country. There ia no t,i 
longer that monotony, which, in despite of all its charms, was undoubt- '\ 
edly felt even in the delightful rS-unions of which 1 speak. The great \ 
events, which have so recently parsed at home and abroad, prevent the 'a\ 
petty topics of passing occurrences to have the same interest which ^ 
they formerly had, in the absence of all more stirring subjects of si 

< But, ill despite of all this, which I am obliged to admit, when I 
come coolly to think upon the subject, certain it is that to me Paris ^t 
gives very inferior gratification to what it formerly gave. To be sure» i^i 
I have undergone my revolution also : I am older, sadder, in weaker 'j 
health, and married. When I first came to Paris in eighty-eight, I wbb 
young, in full health and blood, eager in my pursuit of pleasure, oxA "^ 
tolerably successful in obtaining it. I had the good fortune also ta ^ 
gain admittance into a most delightful circle. Without being at all k ' 
literary man myself, I mixed with the gens de lettres. Marmostel'k ^ 
house was open to me, and Grimm I met constantly, and listened, with ^' 
the utmost interest, to the piquant observations upon what was passing ^| 
around us, which gave so peculiar a charm and vivacity to his co»- '* 
veraation. Now, Marmontel is dead, Grimm has retreated to the court: 't 
of his old patron the Duke of Saxe-Gotha ; all who composed that set '* 
are dispersed and gone. The Abbe Morellet is the only one of them jii 
who remains ; and he now is more remarkable for that circumstanCfr ^i 
itself, than for the animated and sensible social talents which he cott- ^ 
ttibuM4 in those days, as his share of that exquisite mentd pk-mc. '% 



Bhunfs MSS. 57 

liave bee& to see him ; and our conversation almost wholly tuhied upon 
the total extinction of the society in which we had formerly met. 

* Nowy I am here, not to reside some time, and to mix with the 
Parisians as a resident ; but as a mere John-Bull traveller, with my wife 
io one hand, and my catalogue in the other> come to see '* the sights.** 
•And, plague take it ! my wife is as much out of place here, as any 
€Ockney-dame who has never been out of the sound of Bow-bell. I may 
^most be thankful that there are no longer such suir^Sy as those at poor 
Madame de Corvillac*s ; for, upon my soul ! I should scarcely dare pre- 
6ent her there. Not that she is not very well presentable, if she would 
but hold her tongue : but she talks such ineffable nonsense ; she asks 
such excruciating questions ; she but I will not talk of her just now* 

* With respect to ** the sights," there can be no doubt of their ex- 
treoae increase and improvement since the Revolution. The collection 
at the Louvre is certainly the most splendid assemblage of productions 
of art in the world. I shall not stop to enquire how it came there ; it 
is sufficient that it is there, for me to go and luxuriate upon its riches, 
day after day. 

* Alas ! with what emotions did I behold the Venus, here in her new 
abode ! I last saw her at Florence. -^ At Florence ! Oh ! what a world 
of memory dwells in that one word ! What a tissue of fond thoughts, of 
passiobate afiection, of deep love, does it call up ? My visit there was 
the crisis of my lifC) as a subsequent time was its catastrophe. The 
sight of this statue made those days almost present to me again — pre- 
sent for all the painful condiments of passion, but not including any of 
its delightful attributes. I recollect going to pass hours in the gallery, 
day after day> while the fever of anxiety was preying upon my heart, 
that I noight, if possible, forget the passage of time, in the contempla- 
tion of all the beauties and wonders by which I was surrounded. In the 
Tribune, and in the Cabinet of Bronzes, I used mostly to take my stand 
— - gazing, in the one, on all its peculiar riches of art, both in sculpture 
and in painting ; and^ in the other, on that exquisite piece of statuary 
which almost renders the presence of any thing else needless.' — Vol. ii. 
pp- 230— 236. 

He dies, utterly exhausted. The * editor' thus makes the amende, 
by giving a short summary of the principles of this useless and 
noamiable individual : 

' If the reader have viewed this progression in the same light th^t it 
has appeared to me, a not unprofitable lesson, may, I think, be drawn 
from it. Mr. Blount I take originally to have been a man of warm and 
upright feelings, as well as of considerable ardour of disposition. But 
he caused his own misery, and that of her who loved and trusted him, 
by that most pernicious and enervating bent of mind with regard to 
women, for which, thank Heaven! our language wants an expression; 
I mean> that common to men whom our neighbours term cl bonnes for- 
tMmes, The increasing action of this corroding influence is, I think, very 
qiparent in the gradual change of tone throughout the course of these 
papers. He begins by talking of these matters with gaiety and buoyant 
aumal spirits. He resolutely shuts his eyes against every thing whicn he 
fisds it disagreeable to look upon ; he seieks only present enioyme«t) 
and he finds it. After further sdf-induJgence, we &nd Ivitn moTe ^a^- 
colt to be excited, and occasionally looking back with teudetues^ wcv^ 

D 3 



98 Blount's M^. ^ 

regret to the happiness which he has thrown away. Neither does he - 
uny longer possess that flow of spirits, which is the surest shield against i 
sulFering frona tlie agitations of the stronger passions. Ultimately his 
heart becomes corrupt, and his life loose, even to licentiousness. He 
plunges into dissipation to shake off the thorns which the flowers of in- ' 
dulgence have left within his heart ; and he only doubles their number. ' 
He becomes soured in temper, and discontented in his habits of thought. 
The present has for him no joys, the future no hopes ; the past he dares *" 
not look at. At length, from fortuitous circumstances, a second dawn i 
breaks and brightens upon him ; a happiness, be has not deserved, ■■ ■ 
placed almost within his reach, when a circumstance, eijually fortuitouR, ^ 
snatches it from him for ever ! 

' What store of mental comfort and consolation has he then to turn 
to ? What feelings has be hived up to support him in sorrow or adver- 
sity? Alas! none; his life becomes one dreary gloom; there is no 
bright spot to alleviate or adorn it. 

' Such a man as this cannot bear solitude ; he rushes again into the ; 
world, and seeks means of driving away reflection more desperate even i 
than those he formerly employed. These ruin his fortune, as those had 4 
corrupted bis heart ; and he sells himself in a mercenary marriage, 
which completes tlie climax of his misfortunes caused by taults. And « 
what is the result ? He drags on two or three miserable years, and sinks ( 
into an early grave, aUke morally and physically worn out. He dies of ; 
old age at nine-and -thirty. 

' Such is the outline, as it has appeared to me, of the life of a man 
of the description I have named. Is the picture one, which we should 
wish lo be a likeness of ourselves ? I think there cannot be two opinions ' 
on the subject, * 

' Reader, if the bent of your disposition be inclining you lo the ' 
course of which you have just seen the consequence, pause a moment 
on your way, and ask yourself this question : — " How shall I think on ( 
these subjects by the time 1 am forty ?" ' — Vol. ii. pp. 276—279. j 

It would be unjust to deny that this is a clever book ; that it con- ' 

tains some very attractive passages, and that it altogether entitles I 

the author to look on himself as capable of more important efforts. > 
But its principle of authorship is wrong. By making the hero a 

creature of such wayward and transitory motives, it goes far to ' 

extinguish the interest essential to the leading character of a ro- 4 

mairce. Men like Blount are not to be found out of the study, or, 1 

if they are, they are altogether too rare to form a class ; and instead ' 

of being capable of exciting the respect of man or the love of ■ 

woman, are ridiculed and repelled by both, as miserably selfish, 1 
and eaten up by sickly affectation. The excuse of want of excite- 
ment is perfectly worthless. No man believes that .iny thing leads 

the drunkard to encounter the pains and penalties of his vice but \ 

the love for getting drunk. 'ITie gratification to be found in other t 

vices is, in like manner, the cause of encountering their pains and 1 

penalties, Superlative elegance of taste and superfine delicacy of \ 

/eeJJng- may be the excuses ; but the true reason is to be found in \ 
g-rossaess of appetite snd vulgarity of nuiuL 

L 



T/a French (^ntmtyjbr 1824. 39 

Thi^ Writer allows faimsdf to fall into a good deal of rather 
utigracefid plirasecdogy. 

* It is a beatitWll coutitty thisy hereabouts** 

* It IB a pretty eight this, eh, Frewin ?' 

/ The Bastille surrendeted ai about twenty minutes before five o'clock' 
(certaintj checked by inrcertainty)^ 

* This la a very pretty spot, this villa of hers/ 

We might cite several other instances of phraseology equally 
objectionable; but we have already devoted sufficient space to a 
work tiiat^ after all, has but little chance of being read a few years 
hence* 



Art. v. Annuairi Nectologique ; ou. Complement Annuel et Con* 
tinuation de toutes les Biographies, ou Dictionnaires Historiques, &c. 
Redig^ et public par A. Mahul. Ann€e 1824. 8vo. pp. 429. Paris. 
D^cembre, 1825« Treuttel and Wurt^, London. 

1 HIS work, as its title imports, is of a character analogous to that 
of our British Annual Biography and Obituary, of which we recently 
noticed the last published volume.* The ^ Annuare Necrologique,' 
however, puts forth by far a more ambitious promise than the Eng« 
lish collection ; for it professes to afibrd a continuation of all former 
biographical dictionaries, and to give the lives of ^ tons les hommes 
remarquables par leurs actes ou leurs i3roductions,' who may have 
died since its establishment. It therefore undertakes the record, 
not only of national but of universal biography ; and, accordingly, 
it is formally divided into Partie Fran^aise and Partie Etrangere. 
The full amount of this pledge is by no means redeemed in the 
execution. Of the volume before us the portion devoted to the lives 
of foreigners who died in the year 1823 is meagre, defective, and, 
in general, wretchedly compiled. The catalogue of distinguished 
persons which it enumerates is imperfect and scanty \ and the se- 
lection has been so ii^judiciously chosen, that while we are presented 
with a detailed account of several individuals of little or no import- 
ance, others of &r greater celebrity haVe been entirely overlodked 
or forgotten. 

That part of the volume, however, — by far the largest, — which 
is occupied with the national biography, bears a very different cha-* 
racter. It provides us with a copious and, as far as we can deter- 
mine, a complete and accurate biographical dictionary of all the 
Frenchmen of any notoriety who died during the year 1824. It 
indudes not only personages celebrated by their political or military 
career, but individuals of all denominations and pursuits who had 
ever excited pubiie attention ; men of letters and science, priests, 
lawyers, physicians, artists, — in a word, characters ot eN^\^ \vtQ^ 

-r— -^^L_ *_ _^ * ^^^■_,..^— _.^^ ^*.. ...p* .- --j^x I' ll _ \ ' V |1 *^ l i ra -^^— — t mX - * 

* See Motuhlf Reriew^ No. III. pp. 235— ^%1- 

D 4 



^^■r- The French Obituary for 1824. 

(ession and class, by whatever means conspicuous in their sevei 
stations. It is obvious that a work upon this plan, if compiled wi 
proper materials, scrupulous fidelity, and good judgment, will r 
only be full of present interest, but must eventually prove of ccM 
siderable value, as a book of general information and reference. ', 
should offer an ample store-house of matter for the future politici 
and literary historian of the times, and it must serve as a receptac 
for a great variety of facts that might otherwise be lost with r' 
reminiscences of the passing generation. 

Judging from the mass of very interesting French personal 1 ,,^ 
tory wnicli is compressed into the volume before us, we are disposed 
to ascribe to the ' Annuaire Necrologique' a great deal of the merit 
and importance which such a work should possess; and regarding it 
only as a manual of national {and not of foreign) biography, we have 
little hesitation in predicting that it will form a valuable acquisition 
to this department of French literature. It commenced, moreover, 
at a fortunate juncture ; for the first volume was the obituary for the 
year 1820, when the revolutionary storms of thirty years had finally- 
subsided into a lasting calm, and when the secure establishment of 
a constitutional government had given men leisure, impunity, and 
temper for some approach to dispassionate judgment on the past. 
Since that epoch, every successive year has removed from the stage 
a great number of the actors who figured in the most eventful 
scenes of French history ; and it is of course desirable, that while 
the characters and actions of these men are yet fresh and recent in 
the memory of their surviving contemporaries, the records of their 
lives should be collected and preserved. 

In such an undertaking it would be absurd to expect perfect 
impartiality. The notice of every public character in the collection 
must bear a hue of prejudice more or less glaring, according to the 
opinions and party of the biographer. The political spirit in which 
the work is composed must, therefore, be a leading point of enquiry 
in determining the degree of reliance that may be placed upon its 
statements ; and here it is satisfactory to observe, that the ' An- 
nuaire N^crologique' is written throughout with moderation, can- 
dour, and consistent liberality. The principles upon which it is 
conducted are evidently those of constitutional liberty. We en- 
counter in its pages neither the servility of ultra-royalism nor that 
strange obliquity and confusion of sentiment which, in France, ren- 
dered the same faction the advocates of Jacobinical equality and 
imperial despotism. Whatever political leaning is discoverable in 
the work tends to the support of opinions which are daily gaining 
strength in that country, and on which the safety of the monarchy 
and the happiness of the people can alone be permanently estal>- 
lished, — opinions assimilating to the moderate Whig doctrines of 
our own constitution. But, in truth, such is the tone of dispassion- 
ate remark in which the conduct of political characters is here 



7%e French Obttuaty for 18^4/4 41 

tauule for tbe tarbnlence and heats of an age of revolution, that no 
one but a fiirioas partisan will find any thing to condemn in the 
spirit of the work; and we only refer to the subject at all as offering 
the best staadard of judgment on the claims of the book to attention 
and praise. 

In this consbtency of opinion, and also in unifiTrmity of style 
and manner^ the * Annuaire Necrologique* is perhaps superior to 
Our Annual Biography. There is here nothing to betray that the 
Cerent articles are not all the productions of the same hand ; and 
still less is there evinced any discrepancy or opposition of sentiment 
and principles. We are not sure either that we do not, upon the 
whole, prefer the plan of this work. The unbroken alphabetical 
arrangement of names and articles is extremely convetiient for 
references, and does not at all interfere with the power of rendering 
each memoir as detailed, or as brief, as the occasion may seem to 
require. As the pages are printed in double columns, and the type 
is at once small and clear, the volume contains an unusual quantity 
of matter ; and its form renders it more compendious than our 
English work. But it must be addeid, that the principal pieces in 
this collection are very inferior in elegance of composition and in- 
teresting detail to many of the memoirs which grace our Annual 
Obituary ; and, in fact, the French work is altogether rather a dic- 
tionary of useful reference than a select cabinet of valuable biogra- 
phy for light and entertaining perusal. 

The summary and comprehensive nature of the volume before us 
will be understood from the simple statement of the amount of its 
contents. The articles are above one hundred and fifty in number, 
and of these nearly three-fourths are notices of Frenchmen who died 
in the one. year, 1824. It will hence be rightly conduded that the 
catalogue is swelled by many names which should absolutely have 
been numbered among ^^ the forgotten and unhonoured dead," and 
with various others, which, if not totally unknown to fame in France 
itself^ can possess litde or no interest for us. Among these last are 
to be found a ^' pretty considerable sprinkling," as Jonathan would' 
call it, of the small fry of prose, poetry, and politics. But without 
lingering to notice this crowd of undistinguished mediocrity, 

** Non ragioniam di lor, ma garda e passa," 

we may observe that the French obituary of 1824 is, for the brief 
space of a single year, uncommonly full of remarkable names. In 
that year death seems to have made a kind of latter harvest of those 
who had escaped the tremendous gathering of the revolutionary era. 
Of the men who figured conspicuously in the earliest scenes of that 
era not a great number, indeed, have survived to these times ; but 
the wonder is not that so few, but rather how any, of the origitial 
actors in the Revolution contrived to outlive the fearful succession 
of raging horrors, of denunciations and death, pro^ription and 
massacre,, with which each wild and lawless faction in lurw Yi>a«*C8^' 



4A The French Ohiltmry for 1824. 

donn all its opponents. Of the few of these remarkable men whi 
the Revolution had spared, the year 182* swept several away; 
records appear in this volume ol' Cbastellain, Dalmos, Cardl 
Drouet, Pache, Revel lie le-Lepeaux, Cambaceres, and Lebrun, 
meml>ers of the Convention, and the two last of whom played S 
prominent parts in the after-plot of the Revolution. 

There is some curiosity and interest in tracing the different C 
tunes of these revolutionary characters. Tliere was scarcely one of' ■ 
them but, at some period ol' His career, stood on the brink of the ■ 
scaffold; and most of them were only rescued from the guillotine --. 
by the overthrow of the monster, Robespierre. The two first, « 
Cbastellain and Dalmas, were of the moderate party in the Con- ^ 
vention, who voted against the death of Louis XVI. Both of them , 
suffered imprisonment during the reign of terror ; and Cbastellain, ^ 
after filling an office in the republican judicature, passed the last ^ 
twenty years of bis Ufe in rural retirement and privacy. But Dalmas, , 
who had made himself conspicuous in the National Assembly by { 
his courageous efforts to maintain the constitutional monarchy, and ^ 
to protect the royal family on the famous 10th of August, 1793, ^ 
served in various public employments under the empire, and after ^ 
the restoration of the Bourbons attracted the grateful notice of 
Xxiuis XVIII. " I can never forget," said the monarch to bim, 
" the service which you rendered to us imder the most disastrous 
circumstances ;" and his reward was the prefecture of a department, 
which he held to the period of his death. Cordier, Drouet, Pache, , 
and Revelliere-Lepeaux, were all of the number of the regicides. ^ 
Cordier, as our biographer remarks, only emerged from obscurity for 
a single day of his life ; but that day was a memorable one. No 
trace of his fortunes remains after his vote for the execution of the 
King, until his own death at Brussels, where he had languished in 
exile, penury, and obUvion. 

The fete of Drouet was more remarkable. This man was the ' 
famous post-master of St. Menehould, who, on the flight of the 
royal family, recognised the person of Louis XVL, (whom be had 
never before seen,) from his striking resemblance to his portrait oo 
the assignats. Giving the alarm, he was, it will be recollected, the 
author of the arrest of Louis at Varennes ; and his zeal upon that 
occasion obtained for him a seat in the Convention, where he be- 
came one of the most violent agitators of the Jacobin party. He 
voted, of course, tor the King's death, and shared in the subsequent 
atrocities of his faction. Being sent up^in some occasion, after the 
execution of the Girondists, to the army, he was taken prisoner t^ 
the Austrian?, and transported to the castle of Spielberg, in Mo- 
ravia. From his rigid confinement there he attempted to escape, 
by leaping, it is said, from a window, at the incredible height of two 
hundred feet from the ground, with no other precaution than a kind 
ofpamcbate, which he Jiad constructed to moderate the violence of 
**gj|^^^^^oijg,/i;s leg, however, in the daring ftwVev^tNse, wo^ 



The French Obituary for 18S4. 43 

WasTecaptured. He bad left in his room ' a most audacious letter* 
addressed to the Emperor. He was, nevertheless, soon after ex« 
changed, in 1795, with other members of the Convention, for the 
present Dauphiness ; and he was indebted to his recital oF his cap- 
tivity and sufferings for his subsequent admission into the Council of 
Five Hundred, and the appointment of secretary to that body. 
. Here, however, when the ferocity of the Revolution was spent, 
and its excesses began to be remembered with horror, his Jacobini- 
cal violence and his avowed boast that, had he not been removed by 
captivity, he should have gloried to share in the career of Marat 
and Robespierre, excited strong detestation against him ; and, on 
bis engaging in one of the Jacobin plots against the Directory in 
1796, he was arrested and thrown into confinement. In a few days 
be managed to effect his escape through the chimney of his prison, 
and engaged in new conspiracies against the Directory, until, find- 
ing the cause of the Jacobins finally lost, he consulted his safety by 
flight. He withdrew, in the <first place, to Switzerland, but soon 
after quitted that retreat, and embarked for India. His vessel had 
touched at TenerifFe, just before the British attack on that island, and 
Drouet fought bravely in the defence of the place. Finding, while 
there, that he had been acquitted by the tribunals in his absence, 
be returned to France, and, in one of the last vicissitudes of the Re- 
vdiution, contrived to obtain a pecuniary indemnity for his losses. 
He was also appointed sub-prefect of St. Menehould, and continued 
to hold this office, without interruption, throughout the long course 
of the consular and imperial governments. In 1810, he attended 
Napoleon over the field of Valmy, and pointed out to him the posi- 
tions of the armies. The Revolution of 18H removed him from 
office ; but during the Hundred Days he was elected a deputy for 
his department to the Chamber of Representatives. Afler the 
second faU of Napoleon, he was excepted as a regicide from the law 
of amnesty, and condemned to banishment. It is yet uncertain 
whether he ever quitted France : but if he did, he shortly returned, 
and buried himself in strict privacy at Ma^on, where, under the 
assumed name of Merger, he passed the last years of his life in utter 
oblivion. * Unknown at. Ma9on,' says his biographer, * he lived in 
retirement, decently, and even piously. In his last moments, he 
showed the remorse and contrition of a Christian penitent for his 
aflfences; but he did not explain himself farther, at least before wit« 
nesses : and the surprise was very great, when it was discovered,^ 
after his death, that M. Merger was the famous Drouet of St. 
Menehould.' 

Drouet was only a Upld bad man, of ordinary ability and suffi- 
cient courage, such as by all political convulsions are thrown up to 
the sur&ce of society. But Pache and Revelliere-L^peaux were 
characters far more remarkable, and quite peculiar to \h^ ^go^ 
of tJhe French Revolution : men who mingled a frantic pasaiox^^oft 
^^aoara^^y mtb the pursuit of a pAilosopAy as wild and xwoaot^ 



44 The French OUUiaryfor 1824. 

in almost all other respects ss in its political doctrines, 
was an universal licentious entlnisiosm, applied at once to relig 
morals, science, letters, and politics, such as no age of the wi 
had ever before exhibited. An entirely new and all-pervad 
species of fiinaticism, it sprang (Vom and belonged exclusively 
the unnatural and distempered state of French society during f 
eighteenth century. Before the Revolution, Pache had been I 
ploved as tutor in the family of the Marechal de Castries, 1 
settled a pension upon him, and gave him a place in the n 
Having married, Pache afterwards resided for some years in __^ 
zerland, and even acquired property there; but the Revolutioq \ 
attracted him back to France, ' with the rude manners of a moun- 
taineer, and all the fanaticism of the wildest democrat.' He began 
by returning to M, de Castries his deed of pension, and by resign- 
ing his brevet of commissary of the marine, and afterwards betook 
himself to serving the state gratuitously in the ofifice of Roland, 
then Minister of the Interior, He was to be seen every morning 
at seven o'clock waiting for the opening of the doors of the oifice. 
and breakfasting on a piece of dry bread, which he brought in hi 
pocket. 

This conduct gained him some popularity, or at least a reput 
atiou for singularity, which at the time was the road to fortune. 
The newspapers of the day called hiui Le bon homme Packet am^ 
Papa Pache. Brissot and Roland both conceived an affection foi 
him, and extolled him much; and the latter, on the retirement ol 
Servan from the ministry of War, procured the nomination ot 
Pache to succeed him in October, 1792. He was no sooner in- 
stalled in this post than he abandoned his former protectors, began 
to ally himself secretly with the Jacobins, and quickly became, 
under the guise of a placid exterior, one of the most insidious and 
dangerous enemies of the Girondists, to whom he owed his for- 
tunes. His administration of the war- department was violent^ 
tyrannical, and extravagantly wasteful. He supported his agents 
in Belgium and other conquered provinces in their work of pillage 
and destruction, nut, as it should seem, from any cupidity, but 
from the strange wantonness and unaccountable love of disorder, 
which were so prevalent at that frightfiil epoch. The nation suf- 
feced no less than the conquered provinces by the total disorganis- 
ation of the war-department under the ministry of Pache; and 
the evil became so insupportable, that the Girondists succeeded ir 
obtaining his removal from office. 

His exasperation at this disgrace served only to augment his 
hatred of the Girondists, and to cement bis connection with the 
Jacobins. He soon found means to exercise his dangerous quali- 
ties ; and only a few days after his expulsion from the ministry, he 
was tumultuously elected Mayor of Paris by the anarchical party 
n^ch prevailed in the municipality. In this station, he was inde- 
Bting the work of mischief; and he never rested 



The Trench Obituary for 1824. 45 

until the populace had been wrought up to insurrection, and insti- 
gated to demand the proscription of the Girondists. He was 
uierefore a prime mover in the ruin of his former friends ; and 
when the Girondists were brought before the revolutionary tribunal 
which hurried them to the scaffold, he appeared against them to 
seal their fete by his denunciations. He afterwards acted for some 
time in concert with Robespierre, until that demagogue, as capri- 
cious as he was sanguinary, suddenly preferred some accusation 
against him, and he was thrown into prison. The fall of Robes- 
pierre saved him from the scaffold : he was afterwards a second 
time denounced under the Directory, but easily succeeded in justi- 
fying himself; and then suddenly, as if disgusted with the world 
and its affairs, in which he had played so atrocious a part, he 
retired to a national domain which he had acquired in the Ardennes, 
and thenceforth was not only spoken of no more, but seemed him- 
self to avoid hearing or speaking of others. We shall give, in 
the translated words of his biographer, the following authentic 
details (which he declares that he has obtained) on the last twenty- 
five years of the life of this man, who, after a career so stormy 
and turbulent, thus plunged all at once into the most profound 
obscurity and quiet. 

' The domain of Thym-le-Moutiers, on which Pache resided through- 
oat the whole period of the Directory and Empire, and for the nme 
first years of the Restoration, formed all his property, and brought 
him in only from three to four thousand francs a-year (less than 170^.). 
This mediocrity of fortune was sufficient for his wants and his tastes, 
and he even knew how to extract a superfluity from it for works of bene- 
volence. In 1814 and 1815 his tenants owed it to his generosity that they 
were not ruined, like many others, by the charges of the war, which he 
took upon himself. He found himself obliged, however, in 1815, to sell 
a fourth part of his property; and it was much about the same epoch 
that anxiety and disgust caused him to lose his memory to such a 
degree that thenceforth until his death, which happened towards the 
close of 1823, it had become difficult to him to support a conversation 
even for a.few moments. Pache never left his retreat, except for the 
purpose of assisting occasionally at the meetings of the agricultural 
society of M^ziferes, of which he was a member. He never spoke of 
the political events of his life, nor yet of subsequent public occur- 
rences, of which he wished to remain in ignorance, for he never read 
the newspapers. He did not even engage in aiiy of the local business 
of his district. Without any intimacies, and without habitual society, 
he was nevertheless beloved by the country people who surrounded 
him : he rendered them all the services in his power ; and, above all, he 
took pleasure in giving gratuitous instruction to the youth of his neigh- 
bourhood. He opened his library to them, where they found many 
works on mathematics, physics, and natural history ; and he com- 
municated his lessons to them with imperturbable patience. It was 
thus that he formed many of our geometrical surveyors. His conduct 
was that of a philanthropic savage : but it is painful to add, that the 
heart of Pache was warmed by no religious feelings. TUe ^x^^l^*^ 



The French ObUuaryfo,- 1824. 

'number of hia pupils are atheists, and avowed atheists. It is probably i 
in the umc spirit that be was preparing an elaborate course of meU' > 
physics, in which he was long carnosll y otcupied, and which the decay 
of his intellectual faculties obliged him to leave incomplete. The , 
manuscript has passed into the hands of his mn, M. Pacbe, lieutenant- 
colonel of artillery, at this lime (1825J employed on active service.' 

— p. a**. ' 

From this article we pass to that on Revelliere-Liipeaux ; whose 
memory does not, however, deserve to be placed altogether in coit- , 
junction with thatof Pache. For, vitally erroneous as were his prin- , 
ciples, and unhappy and pernicious as was his application of theio^ , 
Revelliere-Lepeaux cannot be denied the praise of good intentions , 
and incorruptible integrity. We have here rather a long and a very 
intei-esting memoir of him, communicated by a friend, as the editor , 
is careful Co premise ; as he is also, besides this caution, to qualify , 
its partiality sufficiently by his own strictures. Revet liere-Lepeaux 
was of a respectable family of La Vendee, and had beeu originally 
destined for the profession of the law. Before the Revolution, he 
had married a woman of intellectual pursuits, and was happily 
setded near Angers. His wile was fond of botany, and commu- 
nicated her taste to him: his own mind was highly cultivated; and 
they moved in a small circle of friends, whose habits were conge- 
nial. The members of this society had imbibed the growing 
opinions of the times, and were so enamoured of the visions of 
republican ecjuality, that they had resolved to seek together an 
asylum of liberty either in Switzerland or America. 

After balancing the choice, the preference had just been declared 
for America, when die events of 1789 enchained their attention 
and hopes Co their own country ; and Revel liere-L6peaux soon 
plunged enthusiastically into the vortex of the Revolution. He 
was elected deputy for Angers to the States-General; and his first 
acts in the National Assembly manifested his republican principles. 
Proceeding in the same career in the Convention, he voted for the 
death of the Kingi and sided throughout with the Girondists. He 
fearlessly denounced the nascent projects of Robespierre ; and in 
his whole course of political lile exhibited a boldness and hardihood 
of Gpirit, which were remarkably contrasted with bodily weakness 
and infirmities. Owing to the brutal treatment which he received 
in his youth from a priest his preceptor, who used to strike him 
violently on the back and stomach, his spine and chest had grown 
deformed, and condemned him to an existence of corporeal suffer- 
ing. Upon some occasion he followed the infamous Danton to the 
trinune of the Convention to oppose his motion. " Que viens-tu 
faire ici ?" said the athletic ruffian rudely, looking down upon his 
feeble adversary willi niiugled surprise and derision, " Te demns- 
qner et te confondre," replied lie. " Toil" cried Dan ton with a 
jesture of contempt, " je le ierais toumer sur la pouce." — " Nous 
alloiis voir," was the cool rejoinder, — " Mais qui t'a donne tant 



7%€ French Obituary far 1824. 47 

de presoQiption ?' said one of Danton's party, who followed to his 
support — '^ J'ai la conscience d'un homme, il n'a que Taudace 
d'uH fiic^lerat,^ replied Revelliere. The speech, which he after- 
wards pronounced from the tribune, was full of energy, and had the 
^Sect of delaying the final victory of the Jacobins for a few days. 

On the &U of the Girondists, and the triumph of their adver- 
saries, Bevelliere-L^peaux was denounced, but fled in time to save 
his life. He remained concealed in various parts of France, while 
his wife and daughter were driven from their home in La Vendee 
by the royalists, and his house and property were reduced to ashes. 
When the fall of Robespierre permitj;ed Revelliere to emerge from 
bis contcoalment, he was re^united to his family at Paris, and 
restored to bis seat in the Convention. Thenceforth, for some 
years, his political career was prosperous and distinguished. He 
^Ued several offices in the Convention, was one of its last presi- 
dents, and finally became a leading member in the first Executive 
Directory of five. We shall not follow his biographer through 
the vicissitudes, — less sanguinary, but scarcely less rapid, than 
thpse of the earlier stages of the Revolution, — which prepared 
the dissolution of the Directory and the establishment of the conr 
sularand imperial governments. These vicissitudes removed Re- 
velliere froui political office ; and he seems, in the weariness and 
disappcMiitment which had succeeded to his enthusiasm, to have 
retir^ gl&dly into private life. He was poor, but he maintained 
to the last the austere integrity of his republican principles ; nor, 
throughout the long and despotic reign of Buonaparte, could he 
ever be induced to accept any of the pecuniary offers of the Usurper, 
DOT even tp conciliate his power. 

His friend and biographer enlarges much on Buonaparte's 
hatred of him, and of the last proof of aversion which he be- 
queathed to him in a passage in the Memorial de St. Helene. But 
we judge, on the contraiy, that the despot evinced much magna- 
nimity towards so feeble an enemy ; and his forbearance, with 
r^ard to Revelliere, appears, indeed, in favourable contrast to his 
mean rancour against another defenceless opponent (Pius VII.), 
which is also recorded in this volume. It is singular and honour- 
able to Napoleon that, so fer from provoking him to tyrannical 
e3Ctremities, the stubborn hostility of Revelliere seems only to have 
insfured him with respect for the sturdy republican, and with the 
incUnation to serve him. The First Consul frequently solicited the 
Ex- Director to appear at the Thuileries : his only answer was, that 
if the Consul wished to see him, he knew that he received every 
one politely. The Emperor commanded the Institute to take the 
oaths of fidelity, and Revelliere as a member was specially sum- 
moned to render this obedience. He refused ; and in reply to the 
fears of his fiiends, observed only, " He may crush me, for he is 
strong and I am fe^eble ; but there is one thing above his power — 
he cannot make me bend." Napoleon then contented ViSms^^ m^ 



The French Obituary for 1824. 

commanding that his name should be erased from the list c^^l 
Institute; but this did not prevent him, some years later (in ISI 
from ofTerina him a pension, leaving it to himself to fix the amM 
if he would out make the request. His answer was character' 
" that having done the imperial covernment no service, he ha^ 
claim to its lavours." — " I would rather," added he, graspingl 
hand of the friend who was the organ of the imperial offer, •■■ 
cate my son and portion my daugliter with the fruits of my f 
tions, than with those of my dishot 

From that epoch, Revelliere continued to lead an undistun 
and peaceful life in retirement, until the second 
France, duruig which, being obliged to abandon his residence to the , 
allied troops. Tie lost the letters of Buonaparte and other intercstiag ] 
papers. Not having filled any office during the Hundred Days, he , 
was not excepted from the law of" amnesty ; but nevertheless, whiUt , 
staying in Paris in the following year, he received a visit from a ,| 
police-agent, who hinted to him that his appearance in the capital j 
excited surprise. He drily replied, that he knew of no law which _ 
obliged him to quit Paris ; and he remained unmolested. This was 
his last struggle with power ; and he closed liis days tranquilly, but " 
nut before, as his biographer informs us, he had dictated to his , 
son memoirs of his public and private life, of which he sent « 
duplicate copy to a friend m Ameiica, giving strict injunctions that . 
neither should he published until a remote period. Of some of 
the peculiar opinions of Revel lie re- Lepeaux, we shall best give an 
idea in the words of the following passage from the article before us; 

' At the period of the creation of the Institute Revelliere-L^ i^ 
peaux had been named a member of the class of moral and political ^ 
Bcience, by the first-third of that learned body. Some time before the 
ISth of Fructidorihe read to his colleagues a paper, entitled " Re- 
flexions flur le Culte, les Cgr^monics Civiles, et les Fgtes Nationales.* '" 
Id this he evinced a decided aversion for the doctrines of the old est*- ^ 
blished hierarchy, which he considered as totally incompatible with the \ 
republican system. But in overturning the church, the demagogue ^ 
government had set up nothing in its place. Persuaded that the ab' || 
sence of religious ideas must plunge the people again, by the oblivion of ^ 
moral laws, into excesses of superstition, Revelli^re'L^peaux thought ^ 
that a simple worship, admitting no other dogmas than the existence of * 
God and the immortality of the soul, must bring back to thet<e fnii- ^ 
dumental principles of morality those who had been carried aw^ *' 
by the excitement aod license of the Revolution, without excludiii|; '* 
others, who, attached to more complicated religious systemF, could not t 
disown in this the common source of their faith. He would have desired (, 
that the acts which gave birth to the ties of kindred should be cele- L 
brated with a solemnity rejected by the habits of the demagogues, antl . 
that, in the same spirit, public festivals should complete the consistency ^ 
of the moral institutions of the nation. These ideas made some impres- * 
sion upon the public, but suited neither the royalists nor the anarchisU. * 
They produced an association known under the name oi Theophila»- m 
't, and of wllich the brother of the celebrated mineralogist " 



2^ French Obiiuaryfyr 1 824. 49 

appears to hare been the real founder. This sect was embraced bj men 
(^ different shades of opinion, such as Dupont de Nemours, Lecoulteun 
de Canteleuy Goupil de Prefeln, &c. Revelli^re-L^peaux considered it 
a laudable enterprise, but contented himself with approving of it, feel- 
ing that any co-operation of government wotild be injurious to it.'— 
p. 260. 

In the lives of the two remaining conventionalists numbered in 
the obituary of 1824*, Cambac^res and Lebrun, there was a curious 
Gomcidence. Their course was parallel ; and it is a little singular, 
that they should have terminated their earthly career within a few 
months of each other. Both had been originally bred to the law ; 
both, after escaping the perils of the Revolution by their address 
and good fortune, rose into consideration as the times became 
calmer ; and on the last brief and delusive settlement of the re- 
puUiean government, they were chosen together by Buonaparte for 
bis associates in the consular dignity. Napoleon declares, (in the 
Memorial de St. H^lene,) that " he had chosen in Cambacer^ 
and Lebrun two men of merit, two distinguished individuals, both 
prudent, moderate, and able, but yet of widely opposite shades of 
character* The one, Cambac^res, the advocate of abuses, of preju- 
dices, of old institutions, of the revival of honours and titles, &c. ; 
the other, cold, severe, phlegmatic, and the stern opponent of all 
these objects.** Madame de Stael had pronounced an earlier, and 
sunilar judgment on them. ^^ With singular sagacity," says she, 
^ Buonaparte chose for his coadjutors in the consulship two men 
who served only to disguise his solitary despotism : the one, Cam- 
baoeres, a lawyer of great attainments, but who had learnt in the 
Convention to bend habitually before the reign of terror ; the other, 
Lebnio^ a man of very cultivated mind and polished manners, but 
who bad been formed under the Chancellor Maupeou, and had 
been taught to consider not even the forms of the old monarchy 
sufficiently despotic. Cambac^res was the interpreter of Buona^ 
parte with the revolutionists, Lebrun with the royalist^: both 
tianslated the same text in a different language." 

The parity of these two men's fortunes advanced equally under 
the imperial system. Both were raised to the princely dignity : 
Cambacer^s became Arch-chancellor of the empire, with the title of 
Prince and Duke of Parma; Lebrun Arch-treasurer, and Duke of 
Pboentia. Both were placed in the House of Peers on the first 
restoration of the Bourbons, and both renewed their obedience to 
Napoleon during the Hundred Days. On the second restoration 
of the Bourbons they were disgraced together, and they were alik^ 
recalled to their dignities, and died peaceably in their country. 

The sketch of the life of Cambaceres, which is given ia this 
volume, affords, in all its accurate and interesting details, a comf- 
pkte justificatioa of Madame de Stael's reproach that he had learnt 
fiRnn long habit to bow his neck before the reign of terror. There 
never was,, in a season of tremendous convulsiouB) ao^YfacX«0^ 

VOL. II. 3S 



60 The Fntw/r Obiluaiyfor 1824. 

example of saccessful time-serving. Descended from an ancient 
Jhmille-de-robe, he had received an hereditary education for the law; 
and he successively accommodated the principles of his science with 
wonderful versatility to the wildest theories of a democracy, to the 
forms of a constitutional republic, which were only less flagrantly 
prostituted, and to the rigour of an Imperial despotism. He was a 
principal instiniment in the composition of every code which, dur- 
ing the whole course of the Revolution, was employed for the viola- 
tion of liberty and justice. Yet his nature was any thing but cruel; 
nor were his intentions otherwise culpable than as he meanly sacri- 
ficed every consideration to his personal safety. In the Convention 
he was led by his natural moderation to resist violent and iniquitous 
measures, as far as he dared ; and he certainly endeavoured, indi- 
rectly, to save the life of Louis XVI., though his conduct on the 
trial of the unhappy monarch was, after the second restoration of 
the Bourbons, very unjustly wrested into a pretext for excepting 
him from the law of amnesty. After the death of the King, find- 
ing that his moderation had provoked the suspicion of the terocioiis 
Jacobins, his timidity induced him to court their favour; and as bis 
biographer, over indulgently, excuses his cowardice, ' he too often 
voted with them.' He was employed by that party in all the vision- 
ary legislation of the period, and was a passive sharer in theiratrtv 
cities. Thus it was that he glided in secure infamy through all the 
massacres of Robespierre's reign, and yet contrived to escape the 
retribution, which doomed tiial monster and his associates to close 
their existence on the same scaffolds which they had saturated with 
blood. Cambacfires is the only instance with which we are ac- 
quainted of an individual who succeeded in passsing through the 
whole course of the Revolution without incurring imprisonment or 
imminent danger. After the full of Robespierre, his credit continued 
to augment; and he rode on the surface of every subsequent 
storm. It appears that in his last years he became a devotee, and 
applied himself earnestly to all kinds of religious observances. He 
bequeathed large legacies to various charitable endowments ; and 
his testament, in the name of the Holy Trinity, implored the par- 
don of Heaven for " the innumerable oflences which he had com- 
mitted," but without specifying their nature. 

The character of Lebrun was gifted with more dignity, and his 
career was less objectionable than that of Cambaceres. He began 
his public life, however, as the secretary of the Chancellor Mau- 
peou, and the organ of his arbitrary administration. He shared in 
his master's disgrace, and had passed the prime of his life In retire- 
ment, when the Revolution commenced. He then re-appeared as. 
a deputy to the first Assembly, and showed himself active, patriotic, 
and moderate. He spoke frequently on financial questions, in 
which he was intimately versed ; and he was one of tlie few who, 
in his writings, at that early epoch, foretold the lapse of the Revo- 
Itttion into anarchy, _^^d]^£n^^tabli^m^^^^^esD< 



The French Obituary Jar 1824. 51 

After the massacre at the Thuileries, on the 10th of August, 1792, 
he seceded from the Assembly, and prudently resigned all public 
fiincti(»]s. He did not, however, escape imprisonment in the reign 
of terror, and was only saved by the fall of Robespierre. After 
diat event be came forward again on the political stage, and thence- 
forth, like Cambac^res, rose quickly into credit and important em- 
ployments. Under the empire he increased his reputation as a 
financier; and he preserved, in the government of Grenoa, and, 
afterwards, of Holland, a fair character for moderation and equky. 
He was, as Madame de Stael has borne evidence, a man of con^ 
siderable intellectual taste and attainments ; and his elegant trans- 
lations of Homer and Tasso still maintain their place in French 
literature. Under the Bourbon government he constantly voted i» 
the House of Peers with the moderate constitutional party ; and he 
died tranquilly, at the great age of eighty-seven years. 

We may here, by the way, observe, that this volume of thfe- 
French obituary exhibits a surprising number of cases of longevity. 
It is as if, by a- whimsical privilege, the men who had outlived the 
perils of the Revolution were enfranchised of the ordinary laws of 
mortality^ and had become invulnerable, beyond their natural term, 
to the shafts of the destroyer. We have not forgotten in our critical 
office to extract tables of longevity from this obituary ; but it might 
surprise the curious in such matters to reckon up ijje very large pro- 
portion, among a hundred and twenty individuals. in this collection, 
who passed the fetal climax of the threescore and' ten years of hu- 
manity. No inconsiderable number of them reached ages of from 
eighty to nmety years. Another little circumstance in this mass of 
biography deserves notice as illustrative of the unhappy and' tui:bu<* 
lent concution of French society during the last third of a century : 
Hbete are very few individuals in the crowd of names before us,, of 
whom it is not recorded that some portion of their career was. spent 
in the military service^ 

After having noticed at some length the memoirs of these remark- 
able revolutionary characters which figure in the collection, we can 
do little more than run over the catalogue to point out a few of the 
remaining persons of any celebrity who are included in the volume. 
There is a long, and not an uninteresting, article on Louis XVIII., 
written at once with more good humour, impartiality, and bold 
candour, than is usually found in royal biography. We have also 
an animated memoir of Prince Eugene Beauharnois, the step-son 
of Bonaparte, which appears to us to describe justly his respectable 
diough not very eminent qualities. Among the notices of men of 
letters and science, we are presented with accounts of the elder 
Lacretelle : — of Cuvelier the dramatist, the creator, as his country- 
men will insist, of the melo-drama, and whose facility of composi- 
tion is at least remarkable, since he has left behind him more than 
a hundred and ten pieces of the kind : — of Langles and Ruffin^ 
the orientalists, the latter of whom was also, for ahaoe sixty ycors^ 

E 2 



Miiman's Anne BolfifH. 



I 



flmployed, wiih little intermission, in French diplomacy at 
Porte, and was assuredly a person botli of grent learning and -^ 
ticftl talents : — of Duvaueel the naturalist, who died while 
scientific mission in India : — of Snge, the chemi^ and Thoum; 
the botanist ; — and of Levaillant, the amusing and eccentric tra- 
veller, the veracity of whose statements has, perhaps, not alwaj's 
been disputed with reason. To this enumeration we may add the 
names of the painters, Gfricault, Girodel, and Lemonnier. 

In the portion of the volume devoted to foreign biography, the 
article on the late Pope, Pius VII., is the only one which deserves 
commendation or notice. It is very well written, ample, and cor- 
rect in its details ; but the biography of Chiaramonti is principally 
interesting, as his life was only remarkable for the unworthy treat- 
ment which he suffered at Buonaparte's hands, and for tlie inflex- 
ible constancy with which, in the last extremity, he resisted the 
violence and brutality of the tj'rant. There might be many acts of 
more enormous guilt in the despotism of Napoleon, but there is no 
transaction in his whole history which exhibits his character sO" 
disgracefully, and even ridiculously, for mingled cruelty and little- 
ness of mind, lis this relentless persecution of an inoffensive and 
defenceless old man. 



Abt. VI. Anne Boleyn ; a Dramatic Poem. By the Rev. H. H. Mil- 
man. 8vo. pp. 168. 8j. 6rf. London. Murray. 1826. 

Our poetry has followed the common laws of trade. A few years 
ago, it came ioto the market a novelty, rose rapidly into demand* 
brought high competition, and, as the result, the commodity soon 
overstocked the dealers. To follow up the commercial pliraseol<^( 
the market is now at its lowest depression, flat to a proverb, and 
until some sudden revolution in public feeling shall take us by sur- 
prise again, flat it is likely to remain. 

We leave the discovery of the causes which may give birth to 
this not undesirable revolution to the reader's own way of viewing 
the subject, and come to the present poem. 

Mr. Milman has been now a habitual writer for many years: he 
has received a fair allowance of public attention, and, in the spirit 
of becoming gratitude, he has descended into the solitary field, and 
here thrown down his glove, to assert the abandoned cause of 
" peerless poetry." Whether he is altogether the champion that 
in her more palmy days she wouUI have chosen, whether his vi- 
gour be equal to hLs zeal, or his dexterity in the use of his weapons 
be of a rank to ensure triumpli, we shall not now pause to deter- 
mine. Let him enjoy at least thu praise of doing that which nobody 
else seems inclined to do ; and if he is not destined to exult in his 
success, let him have the full honours of a " desperate fidelity." 



Milfnan*s Anne Bcleyh. 5S 

He has chosen an excellent form for his poetry. Of all die shapes 
which genius loves, the most vivid and potential is the tragic drama. 
It marches along, with all the passions in its train. It disdains re- 
mote and lingering description. It is no maker of pictures of the 
past, however splendid and spirited ; it makes the past live ; it gives 
action and mind to the dead; its whole intercourse is with actual 
being, in its highest state of animation and impulse. Like the epic, 
it is a habitud wanderer among the monuments of the mighty 
dead ; but it is of a higher function and (lature, it is not satisfied 
with the memories of kings and heroes, it commands their presence 
in their attributes of passion and power, " in their armour as they 
lived." It peoples the sepulchre ; and the slumber once scattered 
by its voice returns no more. 

Next in force and vividness to the true tragic drama is the dra- 
matic poem. By the introduction of the characters, speaking for 
themselves, the long circumlocutions and dreary explanations of the 
author are escaped. The scene i^ transferred with the rapidity of 
the stage. The quick contrast of character, the rapid interchange of 
dialogue, the dexterous complication of adventure, that make the charm 
of the theatre, are in their degree compassed. The dramatic poem 
wants the severe compactness of the drama ; and what it gains in 
fac'dity, it loses tenfold in interest by the loss of vigour. But it still 
holds the nearest rank ; and until we shall see the brilliant pheno- 
menon of a great tragic play arise, to shine over the darkness of our 
national stage, we shall receive, with no reluctant homage, its har- 
binger in the * dramatic poem.* 

Mr. Milman's work is founded on the well-known period of our 
history, when the unfortunate Anne Boleyn was sacrificed to the 
brutal and capricious license of Henry. The poem commences 
with a dialogue between Mark Smeaton and his sister Magdalene, 
a nun, who had been driven from one of the sequestrated establish- 
ments. Mark has been educated abroad,- and become a skilful 
player on the lute. His sister asks him for one of the strtuns 
which they sing in the royal chapel. He replies in the following 
pretty lines : 

* Mark. Dearest, yes, Til bring 
All these, and hymns forbidden there ; there's one 
Was taught me by a simple fisher-boy, 

That sail'd the azure tide of that bright bay 

That laves the walls of Naples : as he sung — 

What time the midnight waves were starr'd with barks> 

Each with its single glowworm lamp, that tipt 

The waters round with rippling lin6s of light — 

You would have thought Heaven's queen had strew'd around 

Silence, Uke that among the stars, when pause 

The angels in ecstatic adoration. 

* Magdalene. Speak on, speak on \ — Were it a stranger's voice 
Jhat thus discoursed, I could lose days In listening ; 

But thine -— — 

E 3 



Mihtan's Anne Boleyn. 

' Mark Oh ! Magdalene, thou Itnow'it not h 

In our chill, damp, aod heavy atmosphere, 
Tlie power, might, magic, mystery of sweet souuiIb ! 
Oh ! on some rock to elt, the twihght winds 
Breathing all odour by — at intervals 
To hear the hymninga of some virgin choir. 
With pauses musical as music's self. 
Come swelling up from deep and unseen distance : 
Or under some vaat dome, like heaven's blue cope. 
All full and living with the liquid deluge 
Of harmony, till pillars, walls, and aielee, 
The altar- paintings and col-d images. 
Catch life and motion, and the weight of feeling 
Lies like a load upon the breathless bosom !' pp. 6 — 8. 

Magdalene, zealous for her faith, is alarmed for the steadiness o 
rher brother's, exposed as he is to the captivations of the court, and 
■ fibove all, to ' that heretical and wicked queen.' But tlie advici 
rjeems to have come too late, for the boy, though unchanged in hi 
. belief, is already enamoured of Anne, whose habits of life he thu 
describes : 



I 



' Her audience 

Is of the wretched, destitute, forlorn: 

The usher to that court is Beggary, 

■ ' - n: her " 



A 



And Want the chamberlain : her flatterers, those 

Whose eloquence is full and bursting hearts; 

Her parasites, wan troops of starving men 

Round the full furnish'd board — pale dowerless maids — 

Nuns, like thyself, cost forth from their chaste cloisters 

To meet the bitter usage of the world ; 

While holiest men are ever in her presence i 

Nor can their lavish charity exhaust 

The treasures of her goodness.' pp. 10, 11. 

The chief agent of the piece now appears, the Jesuit Angelo 
on whom the poet lias lavished no slight portion of sombre colour 
ing. The following passage is extravagant beyond all bounds : 

' But thou 
That art a part of God's dr^ad majesty. 
In whose dusk robe his own disastrous purposes 
Th" Almighty veils, twJn-bom with Destiny, 
Inexorable Secrecy ! come, cowl 
This soul in deep impervious blackness ! — Grant 
I may deny myself the pride and fame 
Of bringing back this loose apostate land 
To the true Faith. Be all nune agency 
Secret as are the springs of living fire 
In the world's centre, hury deep my name. 
That mortal eye ne'er read it, till emblazed 
Amid the roll of Christ's great saints and martyrs 
It shake away the oblivious gloom o( agea.' 




J 



Milmavls Anne Bci^/n, SS 

He takes Mark Smeaton to task relative to the Queen's favourites, 
and suggests that he may be in the road to favour. It is to be ob- 
served, in the Jesuit's whole character, that he is declared to be 
sincere, that the violences or artifices which he uses are in obe- 
dience to that strong enthusiasm, whose purpose is to do Heaven 
service, and which, in more than religious matters, so easily over- 
looks the crime of the means in the profound value of the object* 
But in the wish to make the character forcible, Mr. Milman has, 
unwittingly and injudiciously, made it all but diabolicaU 

m 

* Tliat warning was a master-stroke : it brings 
The impossible within the scope of thought ; 
We do forbid but what may come to pass ; 
And he will brood on it, because forbidden, 
Till his whole soul is madness. All the rest 
Are full of their proud honour, and disdain 
To torture with vain villanous misconstruction 
Each innocent phrase to looseness. Cursed woman ! 
'Gainst whom remorselessness is loftiest duty, 
And mercy sin beyond Heaven's grace — think'st thou 
To be a Queen, and dare to be a woman ! 
Play fool upon thy dizzy precipice, 
Nor smile, nor word, nor look, nor thought but's noted 
In our dark registers ; each playful jest 
Is chronicled, and we are rich m all 
That's ocular proof and circumstance of guilt 
To jealousy's distemper'd ear. 

And thoU, 
Proud King ! the church's head ! — each lustful thought, 
Each murtherous deed, is a new link of the chain 
By which our slaves are trammell'd : we'll let slip 
Thy own fierce passions, ruthless as the dogs 
Of war, to prey on thy obdurate heart ; 
And they shall drag thee down, base, suppliant, 
Beneath our feet — or drive thee maddening on. 
An hideous monster of all guilt, to fright 
The world from its apostasy, and brand 
The heretic cause with thy eternal shame.' pp* Id, 20. 

The scene next brings forward the Queen, Lord Rochford, and 
Mark Smeaton, who is introduced for the singular purpose of sing- 
ing " The Protestant's Hymn to the Vii^giii," a trial of strength as 
well as of skill, for it occupies no less than eight pages ! 

Angelo and Bishop Gardiner are now in close council. Gardiner 
is reluctant to acknowledge the extent of his views ; but Angelo 
urges and inflames him^ until his tardiness gives way. The Bishop 
makes some passing remark on the superiority to which a man of 
the Jesuit's powers might be presumed to attain. The remark is 
suddenly answered by Angelo's disclaimer of all worldly views* We 
give this passage entire^ as one of the best in the volume^ 

* Oh ! fear not, 
Nor jealously mistrust me, lett I cross 

js 4 



Milman's Anne Boleyn. 

Thy upward path : I have forsworn the world. 
Not with the formal oaths thut burst like flaK, 
But those that chain the soul with triple iron. 
Earth hath no guerdon I may covet, none 
I may enjoy. — Thou, Stephen Gardiner, 
Shalt rule submissive prelatea, peers, and kings. 
Loftiest in station, as in mind the mightiest ; 
And a perpetual noon of golden power 
Shall blaze around thy lordly mitred state. 
I'm girt for other journeys : at that hour, 
When all but crown'd the righteous work, this isle 
Half bow'd again to the Holy See, I go 
Far in some savage land unknown, remote 
From civilized or reasonable life, 
From letters, arts — where wild men howl around 
Their blood-stained altars — to uplifl th' unknown, 
Unawfu! crucifix ; I go to pine 
With famine ; waste with slow disease ; the loathing 
And scorn of men. And when thy race is run, 
Thou, Winchester, in marbled cemetery, 
Where thy cathedral roof, like some rich grove. 
Spreads o'er, and all the wall with 'scutcheons blaze, 
Shalt lie. While anthem'd choirs and pealing organs. 
And incense clouds, and a bright heaven of lamps, 
Shall solemnize thy gorgeous obsequies; 
O'er my unsepulchred and houseless bones, 
Cast on the barren beach of the salt sea. 
Or arid desert, where the vulture flaps 
Her dreary wings, shall never wandering priest 
Or bid hia beads or say one passing pray'r. 
^ Thy memory shall live in this land's records 
L While the sea girds the isle ; but mine shall perish 
H As utterly as some base beggar's child 
" That unbaptiz'd drops like abortive fruit 

Into unhallow'd grave.' pp. 49 — 51 

Anne has at length had evidence of the King's desertion of her 
for Jane, Seymour, 

' I saw it — 
^K 'Twas no fou! vision — with unhlinded eyes 

^F I saw it ; his fond hands, as once in mine, 

r^ Were wreath 'd in hers : he gazed upon her face 

Even with those sorcerom eyes, no woman looks at — 
I know it, ah ! too well ^- nor madly dote. 
That eloquence, the self-same burning words 
That seize the awe-struck soul, when weakest, thrill'd 
Her vainly-deaf averted ears,' p. 56. 

AH this is Injudicious : it is, at best, the language of a romantic 
girl. But what are we to think of the sorceraiis eyes and irresistible 
tenderness of that old, brawling ruffian, Henry ? The noi- madhf 
dote we may attribute, nt our pleasure, either to tlie Queen's con- 
viction of her being in possession of her senses, or to xhejascination 
_of the King, This idle exuberance flows on. 



1 



MUmafCs Anne Bctegu. 57 

< But thou, 
Oh ! thou> my crime, my madness I thou on whom 
The lofliest woman had been proud to dote, 
Had he been master of a strato^roo/'d cottage t p. 56. 

Such is the formidable inconvenience of founding a poem on a 
transaction of authentic history. 

' This he 
That lay whole hours before my worshipp'd feet, 
Making the air melodiotis toitk his xvords f 
Sojear/ul to offend, having offended 
So Jearful of his pardon , not myself 
More jealous of my maiden modesty/ p. 66. 

Who can recognise the licentious and brutal King in the sighing 
swain of this pastoral picture ? 

The plot now advances to the subornation of Mark Smeaton as 
a witness against the Queen's honour. The boy resists ; but is 
finally induced to forswear himself, under the suggestion, that the 
proof of her infidelity would be used only so far as to procure a 
divorce, her life being spared in consequence. 

The Queen goes to the tilting match at Greenwich, where the 
King's pretended jealousy is inflamed by the incident of the hand- 
kerchief. The whole is thus described by Angelo : 

' I stood 
Within the tilt-yard, not to take delight 
Carnal, unpriestly, in the worldly pageant i 
Though, Heaven forgive me ! when the trumpets blew, ^ 
And the lists fell, and knights as brave, and lull 
Of valour as their steeds of fire, wheel'd forth, 
And moved in troops or single, orderly 
As youths and maidens in a village dance, 
Or shot, like swooping hawks, in straight career ; 
The old Caraffa rose within my breast — 
Struggled my soul with haughty recollections 
Of when I rode through the outpour'd streets of RomCi 
Enamouring all the youth of Italy 
With envy of my noble horsemanship. 
But I rebuked myself, and thought how Heaven 
Had taught me loftier mastery, to rein 
And curb with salutary governance 
Th' unmanaged souls of men. But to our purpose ; 
Even at the instant, when all spears were levelled. 
And rapid as the arblast bolt, the knights 
Spurred one by one to the ring, when breathless lealit ^ 
llie ladies from their galleries — from the Queen's 
A handkerchief was seen to fall ; but while 
Floating it dallied on the air, a knight. 
Sir Henry Norreys, as I learnt, stoop'd down, 
Caught, wreath'd in his plume, regained his spear. 
And smote rieht home the quivering ring : th' acclaim 
Burst f<nth like roaring waters, but the King 



I 



Mi/man's Anne Boleyn. 



Sprang up, and call'd to horse, while tumult wild 

Broke up tlie raarr'd and frighted ceremony.' pp- 86 — 88. 



1 



! Queen is arrested as false, and conducted to the Tower- 
Before she enters tlie gales she takes a last glance at the free world 
in tbesie pretty and picturesque lines : 

' Oh ! Sir, pause — one look 
^^H^ One last long look, to satiate all my senses. 
^^^^2 Oh ! thou blue cloudless caitopy, just tinged 
^^^^V With the faint amber of the setting sun, , 
^^^B Where one by one steal fortii the modest stars 
^^^^B To diadem the sky : — thou noble river, 
^^^^B Whose quiet ebb, not like my fortune, sinks 
^^^^L With gentle downfall, and around the keels 
^^^^V Of those thy myriad barks mak'st passing music : — 
^^^^E Oh ! thou great silent city, with thy spires 
^^^H And palaces, where I was once the greatest, 
^^^^H The happiest — 1, whose presence made a tumult 
^^^^r In all your wondering streets and jocund marts : — 
I But roost of all, thou cool and twilight air, 

That art a rapture to the breath ! The slave, 

(The beggar, the most base down-trodden outcast, 
The plague-struck livid wretch, there's none so vile, 
So abject, in your streets, that 'swarm with life — 
They may inhale the liquid joy Heaven breathes — 
They may behold the rosy evening sky — 
They may go rest their free limbs where they will ; 
But I — but I, to whom this summer world 
Was d) bright sunshine ; I, whose time was noted 
But by succession of delights Oh ! Kingston, 
Thou dost remember, thou wert then Lieutenant, 
"Tis now — how many years ? — my memory wanders — 
Since I set forth from yon dark low-brow 'd porch, 
A bride — a monarch's bride — King Henry's bride I 
Oh ! the glad pomp, that burn'd upon the waters — 
Oh ! the rich streams of music, that kept time 
With oars as musical — the people's shouts, 
That call'd Heaven's blessings on my head, in sounds 
That might have drown'd the thunders I've more need 
Of blessmg now, and not a voice would say it.' pp. 106, 107. 

Anne is tried before the council, is speedily condemned, and, to 
her infinite grief, her condemnation involves the lives of Norreys 
and her other frentlemen. Tliey die protesting her innocence and 
their own, Mark Smeaton, awakened at last from his dream of 
saving her, dies on the scafH^ld, exclaiming against himself and his 
deception. The Queen, after listening to the bell which tolled for 
their successive deaths, is brought out, makes a speech from the 
scaiFold, nearly copied from the history, and dies in for^veness and 
resignation. 

On the whole, this poem will add nothing to Mr. Milman's de- 
served reputation. It exhibits the same forcible and classic langi 



WilsotCs Traoels in Normajf^ Sweden^ ^c. 59 

which first gave promise of his career ; but it wants the vividness 
of conception and truth of character, without which poetry, and, 
above all, dramatic poetry, must see its laurels wither leaf by leaf. 
The character of the Jesuit, Augelo, is, as we have remarked, an 
extravaganza, an intolerable exaggeration. The possession of the 
loftiest feelings with the commission of the most fiendish treacheries 
is not in nature. No madness of enthusiasm can degrade and in- 
furiate the moral sense to this pitch. The other characters are 
generally feeble and incomplete. Of Henry we have but a few 
sonorous lines. Of Gardiner's character we have but a sketch, and 
that sketch bearing no similitude to the bold minded, intelligent^ 
and haughty original. The treachery practised by Mark Smeaton 
extinguishes all the interest with which the author had evidently 
intended to grace and bring out his character. Anne Boleyn is the 
most finished picture of the piece, and exhibits some touches of 
nature and delicacy : but even she declaims at an oppressive length ; 
and the poetry of her speeches too frequently sinks under the pon- 
derousness of her grief. 

In our selections we have uniformly chosen the most striking pas- 
sages ; and the reader will see with pleasure like our own that Mr. 
Milman has not yet lost his early and picturesque powers. 



Art, VII. Travels in Nortvai/, Sweden^ Denmarhy Hanover^ Germany^ 
Netherlands, &c. By William Rae Wilson, Esq. F. S. A. Author of 
Travels in Egypt and the Holy Land. 8vo. pp. 659. \L Is. London. 
Longman and Co. 1826. 

Norway and Sweden have more attractions for a traveller fond of 
diversified and picturesque scenery than is generally imagined. 
Mountain, wood, and water conspire to form, in many parts of these 
countries, prospects that are not often to be met with elsewhere ; 
and the roads in general, at least those which are most fi*equented, 
are usually kept in excellent order. It adds not a little to tne plea- 
sures of a journey through those united kingdoms, that the traveller 
has no bandits to fear, as in Italy, Portugal, and Spain. The pea- 
santry are industrious, hospitable, and remarkably civil and attentive 
to strangers. The expenses of travelling are trifling in comparison 
to what they are in any part of the south of Europe ; and, what is 
of equal consequence, a tourist, if he observe the regulations of the 
post, may proceed with as much expedition as he pleases, without 
being exposed to any dbappointments as to horses, or to imposi- 
tion of any description. The inns, indeed, are not of the highest 
character for cleanliness and comfort ; a defect which, together with 
the absence of those attractions that arise from collections of numer- 
ous and distinguished works of art, and of populous and well-built 
towns, may, in a great measure, account for the neglect with which 
our ^nigrant classes have hitherto treated the regions of th& iwot^ 



Wihon's Travels in No)-way, Smeden, ifc. 

In short, that qunrter is not fashionable, and we fear tbat it □ 
will lie so, notwithstanding Mr. Rae Wilson's strenuous exertiid 
in setting off all Its favourable peculiarities to the best advanta 
When Englishmen leave their own firesides, few of them c 
interested enoiigli as to every thing llial touches the sense of |) 
sonal enjoyment, not to seek a climate that is purer and more g 
than their own. The lands of the vine have also in them n 
failing resource for those whose love of fine scenery is easily satiaj 
Besides, the " lions" of Christiana and Stockholm are few, andfl 
very remarkable : those of the latter might easily be dispatchetf 
a morning or two ; and as to Christiana, if there were any thinJ 
be seen in it, what would an Englishman do in a city where, ii 
tlie wretched stale of the streets, he would, in all probability, fc 
a leg, or at least sprain an ankle, in his first ramble after curiosilil 

The real and only charms which the traveller has to expect 
Norway, or its sister-realm, consist of a succession of some of | 
most varied and beautiful scenes in the world, which nature ) 
spread with a lavish hand over the interior of the country. To T 
who is accustomed to commune with that unseen but ever-adi 
Power, who mai-ks with attention the effect of her combinations, i 
delights in 

" The warbiing woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields," 

to him will such a country afford many objects of interest, fruid 
io afi^r-lifc, of the most agreeable recollections. The broken d<n| 
spendthrift, the woman of fashion, the greater part of that vicious fl 
extravagant tribe, who saunter for years amid the enervating garden _ 
of the south, chiefly for the purpose of indulging in a course of 
licentiousness that would not be tolerated at home, woidd perish of 
ennui m two days at Frederickshall or Uinsweter. 

Either of these places, however, but particularly the former, 
seems to exhibit points of landscape-beauty such as never yet have 
entered into the compositions of the most fanciful artist. We agree 
with Mr. Wilson in thinking that several of the .scenes which he has 
attempted to describe richly deserve to be transferred to the can- 
vass, and offer to young artists some of the finest imaginable objects 
for study. They must, indeed, explore those scenes with their own 
eyes in order to comprehend their character, for our author seldom 
succeeds in effecting an intelligible sketch of them for his readers. 
He has little of the poet in his composition ; and though he pro* 
fesses to feel a strong susceptibility for the charms of nature, yet he 
is more apt to moralise upon them than to reduce them to a picture. 
In this respect, there is a great monotony throughout his work. A 
fine mountain, or an extensive lake, presents itself to his notice ; but 
instead of inviting us to admire its grandeur or its loveliness, by an 
engaging description of its details, he launches out into a discourse 
" e Jnoral government of.t' 



Wilson's Travels in Norway j Sweden^ ^c. 61 

This propensity to dissertation upon common-place topics is the 
pervading vice of liis volume. The mere circumstance of his setting 
out OB his journey gives rise to nearly three pages of reflections, 
much in the style of the ** Meditations among the Tombs.^ 
When he touches on the subject of education, there may be some 
excuse for his habit of amplification ; but, assuredly, his experience 
in literature ought at this time to have taught him that " the attri- 
bute of mercy'* has been long since worn threadbare by every school- 
boy who has been compelled to write an exercise ; and that the 
glories of " the moon," the " queen of light," and " the starry vault," 
have been utterly exhausted both in poetry and prose. Yet Mr 
Wilson renews them in both. Not content with giving us his own 
daborate remarks in his loose and wandering phraseology, he 
intersperses almost every one of his pages with two or three illustra- 
tions in verse, without any remarkable effort of discriminatioii as to 
the source from which he takes them. He cannot trust himself to 
the perils of the deep without being reminded ^ of the old air so 
pc^ular in Britain : 



( cc 



Ye gentlemen of England, who live at home at ease. 
How little do you thmk of the dangers of the seas." ' 

That very rare and unknown poem, Thomson's Seasons, fur- 
nishes him with innumerable quotations, which he thrusts in often 
without the least reference to the subject of which he is treating. In 
one of the towns through which he passed (Carlstadt), he observed 
that the houses were very low, a circumstance which reminds him 
of the fcdlowing lines in Shakspeare: 

** That is the way to make the city flat. 
To bring the roof to the foundation. 
To bury all ! !" 

We cannot, at this moment, refer to the writer to whom the 
author is indebted for the following lines ; but, to make the passage 
perfect, we must give the sentence which precedes as well as that 
which succeeds it. * We observed a peasant tending a flock of 
goats, who was playing on the lure^ as it is named, or trumpet, with 
true simplicity. 

* ** Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? 
• Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn I" 

This serves as a call to the cattle, particularly in forests.' This ! 
Does he mean " the rugged heart forlorn ?" Such is the construe- 
don, though he probably alluded to the sound of the trumpet. 
Again, our traveller seeing two bears cross his path is reminded of 
these noble lines : 

" With visages formidably grim, 
. And rugged as Saracens, 
Or Turli^ of Mahomet's own kin " 



pr 



Wilson's Travels in Norway, Swetlen, S^c. 



"Who the immortal author of these verses may have been, we ■ 
left to conjecture. But Mr. Wilson, who travelled in Egypt i 
Palestine, might have known th.-it the Turks and Saracens, whale 
their feults may be, are among the finest specimens of the hun 
creation ; at least there is a very considerable difference betvri 
them and the rude tenants of the forest, which the author assBJ 
us ' were frightened away by the rattling of his carriage.' '^ 

If a gentleman who finds himself in an incurable disposition fit(*^ 
making a book, be also inclined to decorate his pages with passages i 
boriowed from other writers, he should at least repair his own want 
of originality by the superior beauty and force of his quotations. , 
Mr. Wilson, on the contrary, seems to give his preference to pas- 
sages which have no intrinsic merit to recommend them, and have 
as little as possible to do with the subject which he imagines they 
illustrate. , 

We have already spoken of his propensity to dissertation ; per- , 
haps we should have used a graver term, for he seems to be well i 
versed in the sacred writings, and to think that he cannot use thetS i 
too abundantly in tliis narrative of his travels. We yield to no i 
man in reverence for the Scriptures ; but we hold that nothing can ■ 
be more inconsistent with that reverence, or more disgusting to ' 
every person of good taste, than the frequent repetition of passives 1 
from those inspired works on every trifling occasion that arises in 
the common course of worldly affairs. The affectation of superi<» 
sanctity is one of the most prevailing and plausible vices of our 
day, and is generally found linked with bigotry in religion. Mr.' 
Wilson's sanctity may be, as we doubt not it is, perfectly sincere ; 
but it certainly should have taught him to follow the course of 
virtue with less ostentation, and to allow to others some portion of 
that liberty of conscience which he arrogates to himself. In his 
opinion every religion is wrong which differs from his own, and 
every man is blinded by superstition who does not worship at the 
same altar with himself! When shall we see our literature purified 
from this base alloy of intolerance ? 

The faults which we have specified, and others which remain to 
be noticed, considerably diminish the estimate which we might 
otherwise have been inclined to form of these ' Travels ;' but, at the 
same time, we must not refuse Mr. Wilson the praise that is due to 
him for making us better acquainted than we had been before with a 
very intei'esting country. He has also collected together, with 
great diligence, many facts relating to the agriculture, the economy, 
and the present state of the governments of Norway, Sweden, and 
Denmark, which are not without value. Like an experienced tra- 
veller, he omits no opportunity of affording his advice to those who 
may follow him in the same route, cautioning them of the priva- 
tions which they will have to endure, and the evils against which 
the^ should in time provide. He writes iwivb great minuteness, 
^^^i/ing' evay thing, bis joames ■" ■ > ^- ■'-"•' 



Wilson* s Travels in Nor^ay^ Sweden, 8fC. 63 

NcNTth Sea, bis landing at Gothenburg, and every reflection tbat 
occurred to bim on the way, whether it regarded the weather, sea- 
sickness, the want of light-houses in Jutland, or the dangers of the 
Scaw. Arrived in Sweden, (in June, 1824>,) he thinks it his first 
duty to discover the etymology of that name. He found it, * like 
thatof most other places, disputed,' and he had the happiness, after 
much toil, to leave it in precisely the same situation. In order to 
afibrd the reader some idea of the difference which a few days' sail 
from our shores may make in his outgoings, we shall present him 
with a few of the calculations which Mr. Wilson made at Go- 
thenburg. 

* A good family-house, with a stable, coach-house, and every con- 
veniency, may be had for 30^., or from that to 50^. per annum. Arti* 
cles of furniture, unless of foreign manufacture, are comparatively 
low in price. Beef, mutton, and pork is 2]^d, per pound. In October, 
pork does not cost above l^^f. ; veal is Sj^t/., butter 4</., tobacco 2^. 3e/., 
tea 2s* \0d. per pound. Claret 4«. 6d, per bottle, rum Qs, Sd. per gallon, 
and porter brewed at Gothenburg, 3^. 44. per dozen. Fowls from 7d. 
to 9d. ; ducks, tame or wild, Sd. to 9d. ; turkies from 3^. 6d. to 5s. ; geese 
from Is, 2d. to 1^. 6d. ; and hares from 1^. to Is. 2d. each. Eggs, 20 
for 6d. Salmon from 4rf. to 6d. per-pound. Lobsters, which it may 
be observed are sent from here to London in well vessels, so as to be 
kept alive, are sold at 2s. per score. Other fish is abundant, and 
forms, with coarse bread, the chief part of the subsistence of the lower 
orders. The corn-brandy, of which they also drink abundantly, costs 
Is. Sd.y while French brandy sells at 10^. the gallon. Wheat is about 
SOi. per quarter, rye 25s., barley from ISs. to 20^., and oats 10*. The 
wages of a woman-servant are from 21. to Si. a year ; a footman 4/. and 
his clothes ; and a coachman receives from 6l. to 7/*, and he is allowed 
the expense of his dress. A day-labourer receives from Sd. to I*.* — 
pp. 29, 30. 

In a commercial point of view Gothenburg is of importance, on 
account of its situation between the Baltic and North Sea. It is 
situated in a marshy plain, and, in a general point of view, resem- 
bles the towns of Holland, with a canal running through the prin- 
dpal street, which admits vessels of considerable size to unload at 
the doors of their owners. From Gothenburg Mr. Wilson pro- 
ceeded to Frederickshall, a frontier-town of Norway, rendered 
memorable by the tragical death of Charles XII., who there 

" left the name, at which the world grew pale. 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale." 

Mr. Wilson's description of his journey to this celebrated place 
is animated and picturesque. We were particularly amused with 
his account of Mora Bernd, a German Boniface, married to a 
daughter of Erin, whom our traveller encountered at Wenisburg. 
We must proceed onward with him, however, to Fred^v\cks\\2JL\^ 
which, among its other attractions^ is remarkable, to ^Tv^\s\iV£v^vv 
at least, for its cheapness. What would " mine YvosX!' o^ \!cv«i 



fyilsoit's Travels in Nor\SJ/ti/, Swfrfm, ijc 



ilifiO 



London Tavern say to providing ' twelve persons with a pit 
dinner of fish, for die sum of two-pence sterling i" Tiie partj, 
moreover, may have the ' best claret at 2*., sherry at 2*., and com- 
mon wine at Bd. per bottle 1' In addition to tbese substantial plea- 
sures, the traveller, if he ascends the heights over the town, may 
enjoy one of the finest prospects in Norway. Mr. Wilson's descrip- 
tion by no means does justice to the' scene, but still he furnishes the 
reader with its most prominent features. Imagination must Bll up 
the picture. 

' After leaving the castle, we proceeded about four miles along a 
private tract, and arrived at the cascades, or cataracts, on the river at 
Titsdale. lliese, which are numerous and extremely grand) are em- 
ployed for various purposes, particularly in the cutting of wood; there 
are 28 saw-mills, besides those for the grinding of core and the pre- 
paring of cotton ; all of which are situated within the compass of a 
mile. Most of them I visited ; and found much einployment going on, 
and much joy and smgiug to be heard among the workmeu, which 
brought to mind a remark of Fairfield, in the play, " 'Tis a sure sign . 
work goes on merrily when folk sing at it." Among other operatioos 
pointed out, it may be observed that in one of the former was an in- 
genious milt for the splitting of a log of wood, from which ]i feet of 
plank was cut in the course of a single minute, which would have re- 
(juired the labour of two men to finish with a saw in about 20 minutes. 
1 found that a plank, 21 feet long, nine inches in breadth, and three 
in thickness, was sent from this place to London and sold for nearly 
100^. On this occasion, having presented a trifle in money to ths 
workmen, I was surprised to see their gratitude so conspicuous, and 
extending so far that they took my hand and kissed it. At the summit 
of Titsdale we proceeded to Ween, the residence of Mrs, Zeigler, 
which stands in a situation where there is, perhaps, the most unrivalled 
prospect imaginable. To give some idea of it, I may mention, there is 
a view of the different falls extending to a great distance, which appear 
like so many steps of stairs ; and there is a great activity observed oa 
its banks, and in the different establishments. The windings of the 
river are in a serpentine form, and logs of wood are seen purling over 
these and pursuing tt(pir course to be received ut different places 
beneath : the hills on each side are adorned with wood ; and the fown 
of FrederickshaJl, at the extremity, is situated in a hollow territory. 
There are few places where similar beauties and so many interesting 
objects can be pointed out for the pencil of an artist. From the bacic 
of the house is seen the lake of Fern, spread out half a mile in distanee, 
to which the lawn extends in a gentle sloping direction, and at this 
period of the year its waters were like glass, — 

' " A spotless mirror, smooth and clear." 
This lake commuoicates with the mills, and appears principally to 
supply the water necessary for turning these. Standing in the centre 
of the passage of this house, where there are opposite doors, and be- 
holding the scenery on cadi side, it is impossible to conceive a more 
charming-prospect, or one affording so striking a contrast of hurried 
motion and tranquillity, as on the one hand this placid lake, with the 
tafection 6t' dbjecf on its banks, and on the other the imp) 



fUlscm^s TYavels in Norway, Sweden, Sfc SB 

dashing torrents, fVetting and struggling against masses of rock, com- 
bine4 with the roar these produced, and the hurried motion of the 
mills; but, as any description I can attempt to give must be infinitely 
inadequate to the original, I would add, that this spot must be visited 
in order to be appreciated. It attracted so greatly the attention of the 
King of Sweden, when he visited the place, that ne expressed a strong 
desire to purchase the house,*-<-pp. 92—94. 

Perhaps, however, the object of greatest interest at Fredericks- 
hall is the tomb of Charles XII., which is erected in a paltry s^Ie, 
on the precise spot where that obstinate monarch fell. Mr. Wil- 
son enters into a discussion of the circumstances which at- 
tended the death of Charles, and insists that the common account 
of his being mortally wounded by a musket-ball discharged from 
one of the Danish batteries, while he was in the act of examining 
the trenches of the siege, is not to be depended upon. The spot 
where be fell was not within the range of musket- shot ; he was 
struck in the dark, and was immediately folded up in a cloak by an 
engineer who had accompanied him, who from that time to the hour 
of his death was haunted by the deepest remorse of conscience. 
These are strong circumstances ; and the motives which might have 
prevailed on the Prince of Hesse to clear the way in this summary 
manner for the ascent of Eleonora, the sister of Charles, to the 
throne of Sweden, were, it must be avowed, sufficiently powerfuL 
The question, nevertheless, is still involved in a degree or mystery 
which we can hardly expect to $ee satisfactorily solved at this time, 
when n)ore than a hundred winters have confirmed the silence of 
the grave upon it. 

The Storthing, or Norwegian Parliament, meets at Christiana» 
and is almost the only object for which that capital is worth visit- 
ing. It was not in session when Mr. Wilson arrived there, but he 
endeavoured to compensate himself by making a minute survey of 
the rude and dull streets of the city, and by enquiring into the man- 
ners of its inhabitants. Having seen all the objects which appeared 
to be most interesting at the time in Christiana, he bent his course 
towards Sweden again, ' circumstances, as he informs us, having 
prevented him from extending his journey as far as Bergen and 
Drontheim.' We meet with nothing in the description of his route 
worth extracting, although, from the imperfect and desultory sketches 
which he now and then affords us, it is evident that the country 
through which he travelled is by no means destitute of interest. He 
states, as ' a remarkable circumstance, that the dreadful etirthquake, 
which occurred two years ago, completely destroyed the town of 
Aleppo^ and laid waste the country around it, was slightly felt at 
Carlstadt.' It certainly is a very remai'kable circumstance, if it be 
tnte. On his arrival at Arboga he found numbers of thes country 
people assembled there by a fair. Few occasions afford an intel- 
ligent traveller so favourable an opportunity for observing the 
costume and general character of the rustic folks as an assoao^Vj qR. 

VOL. II. F 



66 Wilson's Travels in Norway, Svxfleti, S^c. 

this descripdon. We cannot sny that Mr. Wilson has availed liiai- 
self of the opportunity that presented itself to him, so fully or so 
happily as he might have done. The observations with which he 
favours us are, as usual, bespangled with little gems of poetry, but 
his facts are not altogether undeserving of notice. We own that we 
were not prepared for the great corruption of morals which seems 
to prevail on such occasions among the Swedish peasantry. 

' A public fair was held at Arboga, at the time of ray arrival, which, 
to use an observation of Justice Woodcock, " never fails to put all 
folks lt£ceabout out of their eenses." This appeared also to be a period 
for the assemblage of persons who offered themselves to be hired as 
servants. Such a sight always appears interesting to a traveller, since 
it ajfords him not only an oppurtuuity of seeing many articles of the 
manufacture of the country exposed for sale, but marking the manners, 
customs, and dresses of the natives. On this occasion I saw many 
from the moat distant parts of Westmanland, distinguished by their 
dress and manners from chose of the neighbourhood, with friendly nods 
and smiles, and kind faces. Others of a superior class were better 
dressed, who seemed to try witb 

' Hats of airy shape, and. ribbons gay. 
Love to inspire. 
The f^r was held in a large square in front of the principal street, 
where a number of booths had been erected, in which articles of various 
descriptions were spread out, such as confectionary, implements of 
husbandry, silks, lace, hats, toys for children ; and further, a great 
number of copper utensils, in which the Swedes seem to excel all other 
nations, were arranged on the ground. Most of the sellers were 
shopkeepers from Stockholm, who had come here to catch the tide as 
it were, to dispose of part of their stock. The town, as may be sup- 
posed, was extremely crowded with people from all quarters of the 
country to see and be seen, and among these were many Tony Lump- 
kins, flaxen-headed ploughboys, Hodges, and Madges, of whom it may' 
be said, that 

' Corn and cattle were their only care. 
And their supreme delight, a country fair, 

' At this time, however, I did not observe one squire of high dej, 
dressed in his Sunday clothes. The women were remarkably fair, and 
distinguished for their strength and healthy appearance : they wore 
mostly tight jackets, and petticoats of striped woollen or linen cloth, 
like the French peasantry, red stockings, and handkerchiefs of all colours 
tied over their beads. Many of them were like housemaids. 

' Tlie men wore long coarse brown coats, clasped in front, with 
standing up collars, handkerchiefs round their necks, and bushy hair 
covering their brown foreheads and cheeks ; each of them carried a 
stick and a handkerchief. AH the men's coaia had red collars and 
stripes of red cloth down the front, which gave them the appearance 
of livery servants. The scenes I witnessed at this fair were ex- 
tremely ludicrous. In one part dancing was kept up in and out of 
doors; but not, I own, with that distinguished grace and agility 
whiph.animitte the Scots Highlander, and tltc very awkward manner 



deg^^ 



vcL wbieh the ruMi<^ moved along confirmed the wofAs of the poet^ 
that — 

* ' A heavy bumpkin taught, with daily care, 
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air. 

hi others, both sexes were setting and reeling about, eating, drinking, 
and smoking. Some of these groups would have been excellent sub- 
jects for the p^cil of Wilkie, or the imitations of Mathews. 1 6dnnot' 
fail to remark, it required no great penetration to discover that prin- 
ciples of morality were npt very scrupulously observed during this ^ir, 
and what an Englishman would call decency was quite out of the questicm... 
The women stood, at all hours, about the square, as if waidng to be 
invited to the public-house, while the men walked about viewing them 
critically} before they selected their partners for the day^s festivity. Many 
of the juv^ule peasants chose, as 1 understood, one, or even two, whom 
they hod never before seen, and who, in consequence, as they walked 
away trmoiphantly with the young men, were objects of envy to alt 
their acqUamtance who were not yet provided with partners. At a 
later hour in the afternoon, I could judge from the appearance of men 
and women^ who sallied forth from the inns, that they had not becst 
altogether nioderate in their libations, as most of them staggered abevt 
in a state of intoxication, proceeding from the effect of the quantity of 
snaps (as spirituous liquors are called) they had taken.' — pp. 174 — 176* 

Mif. Wilsetn, ill the course of Mis journey, passed through Uf^ 
sftl% the Chdbrd of Sweden. The present Crown-Prinfce^ Ok^xtf 
reo^ved Isas edtteation at the University there, which seems^ to 
retain its anscietit cdtebrity. In the spring term of 1822 thef^Were 
140O students enrolled on its books, a fact that augurs well of the 
rising gei^ratioi). We observe that the soas of the clergy* and 
peasantry form the greatest proportion among the different ol'ftsses 
which lusive the means of obtaining BXk education th^e,. aoojther 
striking circumstance eminently favourable to the future prospi^rity 
of Snreden. Upon visiting the habitation and gardea of UnntHiif» 
our pMlosopber cannot resist his propensity to ^^ meditationk^' 

' As it is impossible to visit these places without being reminded that 
a garden was toe habitation of our nrst parents previously to their fall 
fi^ a slaie of innocence, so are they naturally calculated to suggest 
many subjects cf refiection. Being decorated with the inost beautiful 
piaikts, flowers, and medicinal herbs, thes^ occasion' the highest degree 
of delight ; yet the '^ flower fadeth,*^ and the goodness thereof, com* 
pared to the life of man, passeth away. In such a spot no visitor can 
well be melancholy ; but, on the contrary, his eye mm% be charmed, 
and his spirits elevated. When we walk along and view the infinite 
Tariety of beauties and delicious sweets that surround us, and address 
themselres agreeably t6 the sepses, and touch the finest movements of 
the mind, they call on us to consider their Great Author, who opens 
hfir hand thus' liberally, and dresses out the earth in sJl its g}ory 
and' grandeur, for the contemplation and^ pleasure of his dependent 
oreattires: — 

< For us kind nature wakes her genial power, 
l^ekies ekch herb, aiid spreads out every floweT« 

w 2 



Wilson's Travels in Norway, Srveden, Sse. 



;ure ii 



Harmony and design may be said to pervade the universe, and oature 
extends her attention to productions, indeed ihe most ineigniiicBDt; 
for in the very ineanest blossoms the laws of its esfistence are accu- 
rately defined, and the period of its duration invariably determined.' 
— p. 196. 

We will venture to say that so many mere truisms and common- 
place remarks have been seldom strung together so unnecessarily, 
or within so short a compass. 

At Stockholm, as at Christiana, our author minutely describes 
the streets, churches, and other public buildings, with as much 
labour of detail as if the ground had been, before his visit to tliat 
capital, wholly untrodden by English travellers. It is satisfactory 
to us to find that ' there are no restrictions in force there relative to 
religious tenets,' but that, ' on the contrary, the most perfect liberty 
of conscience is extended to all classes.' Would that we could say 
as much of capitals nearer home ! The dieatres also attract niucli 
of Mr. Wilson's attention ; even for these he has an abundance of 
his trite reflections. ' Here it may be observed, that a person who 
enters a crowded theatre cannot fail to be struck with the view of 
so great a multitude, participating of one common amusement; and 
he experiences, from their very aspect, a superior sen&ibility cf being 
affected with every sentiment which he shares with the spectators.' 
OheJjam satis.' Such, at least, would be the exclamation of the 
reader if his inexorable destiny had compelled him to read through 
our author's long, dull, prosing dissertations upon the public iusti- 
tutions of Stockholm, its lotteries, House of Correction, and capital 
punishments, all of which have been taken for granted for the 
last twenty years in this country. Church-yards are also a never- 
failing source of complaint with this philosopher; but from these, 
and other topics of a similar description, we gladly turn to some- 
thing more attractive. He thus describes bis visit to Bernadotte, 
that remarkable favourite of Fortune, whom, after raising hmi to a 
throne, she has still the constancy to keep there, 

' During my visit to Stockholm, I was presented to the King by Sir 
Benjamin Bloonifield, and had a long conversation wiih him in his 
closet, when the manners of His Majesty were affable and condescend- 
iog. I accompanied i^ir Benjamin to the palace in his carriage on this 
occasion, and the guards turned out to salute him in his capacity as 
representative of Great Britain. We then proceeded to the large hall, 
and met Count Engestrom, the Minister of State, and several oiher 
noblemen, with whom we entered into conversation. When we were 
announced. His Majesty gave permission to admit us, the door was 
thrown open, and we were ushered in by one of ihe lords in waiting. 
On Sir Benjamin introducing mn, he mentioned that I had travelled 
some time in the East, The King immediately asked if I had visited 
the spot where the French and English armies fought in Egypt. On 
my answering in the affirmative, he entered into a discussion of the 
Pacha's character, his pursuits, the expedition to Dongaia; and on 
replying to his quQStion, whether I had visited Syria, he inquired if I 



Wilson^s Travels in Norway^ Sweden, S^. 69 

had been at St. Jean d'Acre : I informed him I had, and he made in^ 
quiries as to the number of its inhabitants. I took this opportunity of 
informing him I had made a long journey through Palestine, and 
attempted to draw him into a conversation on that interesting country. 
This, however, I found to be a fruitless attempt, as he always returned 
to the subject of Egypt, which seemed of all other places to possess 
most interest for him. He inquired how long I purposed to remain at 
Stock]) olm ; and on hearing that I intended to depart on the following 
day, he condescended to say that he regretted to hear it, as he would 
otherwise have been glad to see me often at the palace, and have some 
further conversation respecting Egypt. The King then kindly ex>- 
pressed bis good wishes for my further journey, and took me most 
kindly by the hand^ which he shook cordially, when I departed with 
the Minister. 

^ His Majesty is at present about 60 years of age, of the common 
size ; his complexion is dark, and his hair, which is of a glossy black, 
curls naturally. His voice is uncommonly sweet and pleasing ; his 
whole countenance has in reality a great expression of kindness, and 
his manners are singularly prepossessing. It may be further remarked, 
that Charles John is temperate, economical, and what may be called 
equal in his disposition ; modest in demeanour, condescending towards 
all ranks, and deservedly popular in the highest degree. He always 
converses in French, not speaking with fluency the Swedish language ; 
although Prince Oscar, from being educated in the country, understands 
and speaks like a native. In short, the present monarch of Sweden 
does not at all resemble his former coadjutor in France, who ended his 
mad career on a rock, after having trampled on his subjects, and treated 
mankind at large as his slaves, and 

' In a cruel wantonness of power 
Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up 
To want the rest.* pp. 273, 274. 

Then follows a simile about a volcano, which fiernadotte did 
7iot resemble, and something about human blood which he did not 
shed> and intrigues in which he did not mingle, ending with 
another quotation from Gustavus Vasa. This is not all. Sir Ben- 
jamin (now Lord) Bloomfield also comes in for a page of laboured 
eulogy, vi^hich we doubt not that noble lord deserves, but whidh 
can hardly be acceptable to him, or to any man of high feeliilg, 
from the parasitical terms in which it is conveyed. 

While upon this subject, we may add, that there is scarcely a 
single public officer from His Majesty down to a searcher of the 
customs, whom Mr. Wilson has or makes occasion to mention^ 
whom he does not discolour in the same manner with the bvetflow- 
ings of his panegyric. The style in ^vhich he speaks of the Duke 
of York) of Mr. Canning, and several other individuals whom it is 
unnecessary to enumerate, might be tolerated in a maudlitig spec^ch 
at a charity-dinner, but in a sober book of travels it is beyond en- 
durance. It is not manly — at least it is not British. 

Mr. Wilson devotes a chapter to the Swedish ReNoluXiotL oR 
1809, whidi ended in the election of the reigning soxcxev^* H 

F 3 



Wilson's Ti-avel* m Nevtaai/, Sweden, J^c 

circumstances of that curious passage in the modern history of 
Europe are so well known, that we need not detain the reader widi 
any allusion to them. We shall do the autlior the justice to extract 
the summary view which he took of the attractions of Norway and 
Sweden, when he was upon the confines of the latter on his route 
to Denmark. 

' In the first place, the government is mild, and highly liberal; 
and a traveller is not troubled, as in other places, with spies and 
informers, or by passports, and those trifles connected with thera, 
which are in some countries magnified into acts of great import- 
ance, iuterrupt the journey, occasion vexations and delay to the 
traveller, and considerably deiract from the pleasure which he had 
promised to himself from foreign travel. The roads throughout both 
countries may be described as in the most excellent state of repair, 
more so, in fact, than any I have seen during my long and exten- 
sive travels. The arrangements adopted by government for securing 
an immediate supply of horses, checung imposition, ensuring civility, 
promoting the redress of abuses, are admirable, and appear not un- 
worthy the attention of the British government. These, with the 
astonishing low rate of posting, — no demand being made for turnpikes 
on the roads ; with the perfect security ensured both for person and 
property at all hours of the day and night in every district, however 
remote, or covered with the thickest woods; with the facility of con- 
veying luggage of every description, the primitive simplicity and the 
courteousness of the peasantry, which are calculated to draw to them 
the regard of travellers ; and the grand and sublime scenery of lakes, 
cataracts, mountains, and forests, every where exhibited, excite admir- 
ation, and command universal respect. I repeat that the government 
is mUd and liberal, the people loyal, happy, and poUte ; in short, the 
Swedes fear God, honour the King, and " meddle not with those who 
are given to change." All these are circumstances calculated to render 
travelling agreeable, especially to an Enghshman, who, from being 
accustomed to so many conveniences and comforts in his own country, 
is but too apt to expect to meet with them every where else, and to 
express his unqualified disappointment and disgust whenever he dijes 
not, branding the country as a purgatory, and the inhabitants as un- 
civilized barbarians. In travelling through the numerous and extensive 
forests, or, when viewing them from some eminence, whence they 
appeared to cover the surface of the whole country around, I was 
frequently disposed to bestow on the King of Sweden a title charac- 
teristic of his domains, that of the Sovereign Lord of the Forests ; for 
neither in this country nor in Denmark is there any want of those two 
great essentials to fine landscape and scenery, wood and water. Nor 
was I a little astonished to find how few English travellers, particularly 
artists, are to be met with in this country ; which can be accounted for 
only by the delightful and romantic scenery of this part of Europe not 
being sufUcieotly known in Britain ; otherwise it would certainly be as 
much the rage to travel here, as in France, Italy, Switzerland, or 
other parts, since every article is much cheaper." — pp. 360— 3()2. 

On tlie author's aiTival at Elsineur he of course visited the 
caslJe of Cronber^, where the unfortunate Queen of Denmark haij^ 



1 



been bo se^ersly treated during ber captivity. Thence he pro^ 
ceeded to Ck^nhagen, and, as usual, describes every thing as mi- 
nutely as if he had been the first foreigner who ever entered it. 
Here also he bears witness to the practical existence of complete 
toleration in matters of religion. Indeed we happen to know that 
there is no country in Europe where differences upon this subject 
are less thought of either by the government or the community 
than in Denmark. Much of this liberality arises, no doubt, from 
the mild and benevolent character of the King, whom we shall 
introduce to the reader. 

* During my stay at Copenhagen I had the honour to be presented 
to I£s Majesty, for which purpose I proceeded to the palace of Ama- 
lienborg, accompanied by Mr. Foster, the British minister. We first 
paired through a hall, where a party of dragoons were stationed with 
drawn swords in their hands. This apartment conducted to another, 
where I found many persons of both sexes, and of the inferior ranks 
of spciety : on expressing my surprise at this to one of the ministers 
next me, he informed me that they had come individually to present 
petitions to the King, a privilege that unquestionably reflects, the 
highest honour on His Msuesty. This must be considered as liberal as 
it IS wise and humane, and. cannot fail to increase the affection of th^ 
subject towards the monarch. No such instance of royal condescen- 
nan occurs in any court of Europe, unless al that of Palermo. * The 
petitions are first delivered into the hands of the prime minister, who 
lays them before the King, and in due time the answers, if considered 
necessary, are returned. I own I was forcibly struck on lopkjng on 
this part of the asseniblyj with the justice of an observation made to 
me, that it might be considered in the strictest sense of the word 
'' a paternal levee ;' the ear of His Majesty being at all times open to 
the representations of every class of his subjects, high or low. 

* After remaining here a short time, we were ushered by the minister 
into the presence of the King, whom I found standing alone, with his 
back to a large table. On this occasion His Majesty displayed the 
greatest affiibility and condescension, with a peculiar ease of manner. 
Having the honour to present him with a copy of my travels in Eg^pt 
and Palestine, he entered into a long and familiar conversation relative 
to that journey. The first question of importance he put^ was, if I 
had in the course of it compared the appearance of the countries of 
Judea, Galilee, Samaria, &c., and the customs, manners, and usages 
of the inhabitants, with the Scriptures, and found any correspondence. 
I replied that this had been my immediate object, and that after all 
possible diligence and investigation, I had discovered such c(Mncidences 
as most strongly corroborated) in my mind, the authority of Revelation. 

< The King is slender, but of a handsome figure, and about five 
fel^t nine indies in height. His hair and eyebrows are white, and 
he has blue and rather large eyes, a small aquiline nose, and paJe 
countenance; and, on the whole, the cast of his features appeared 
to me to be not unlike those of the royal family of Great Britam. His 

Majesty rises at five o'clock in the morning, and is strictly temperate 

■ „ •■■■-■■•. 

* A similar custom prevails even now at the co\wt o? ^«Ati^v*»'^^ 

F .4 



Y4 Wilson's Travels in Nui-waj/, Sweden, 8^. 

in his habits. Al this time he waa dressed in the uniform of his regi- 
ment, a red coat with light blue facings and cuff^, pantaloons of the 
same colour, boots and spurs, with a sword at his side, and he wore a 
Danish order, with that of the Bath. Perhaps few monurchs in Europe 
are more distinguished for afiability than His Majesty, he being most 
easy of access, and totally divested of every kind of hauteur and 
ostentation. He is frequently to be met walking on the public streets ; 
sometimes alone, at others accompanied by the Princess Hoyal, leaning 
on his arm, but unattended even by a single servant. It should be 
observed that the Danish court is divested of parade and ostent&tion, 
and more remarkable for economy than any other in Europe.' — 
pp. 462—464. 

This is all very well; and as long as Denmark possesses such an 
amiable sovereign she has little to apprehend from the despotic 
power which lie possesses. But we confess we cannot agree 
with Mr. Wilson, that a monarchy tempered only by ibe natural 
disposition of the individual, in whom the supreme power resides, is 
such a species of government as the Danes ought long to be con- 
tented with. They were formerly quite as free as we are ourselves. 
They had a senate consisting of three estates, the nobility, the 
clergy, and the Hers etat, whoi actuated by mutual jealousy, were 
short-sighted, and base enough to agree in surrendering tfieir pri- 
vileges to the sovereign, thus defrauding the country ot its ancient 
liberties and rights ; and condemning themselves and their children 
to perpetual vassalage. Yet it is upon this state of things that 
Mr, Wilson thinks it becoming in him, an Englishman, or rather, 
we suspect, a North Briton, to congratulate the Danes I 

Our medical readers will find in the thirteenth chapter a curious 
and, to them, highly interesting narrative of the case of the Jewess, 
Rachael Hertz, who, during the horrors attending our bombard- 
ment of Copenhagen, swallowed in her fright a paper containing 
upwards of four hundred needles. The symptoms of the disease 
which this nnhappy accident brought upon her are, according to 
every account, of the most extraordinary character. She still 
lingers in existence, reduced to a mere skeleton. One of the roost 
singular circumstances attending her protracted illness has been 
the unwearied industry with which, under all her suiferings, she 
has cultivated her mind. She has, since her first confinement to 
her bed, taught herself to write and speak different languages. 
Her most favourite books are Cicero do Officiis, C^sar, Virgil, and 
Seneca. Mr. Wilson gives two of her letters, which are very well 
written in Latin. 

These specimens of Rachacl's composition will be found in the 
appendix, which contains also copies of tiie Norwegian and Swedish 
constitutions, the coronatiott oath of the King of Denmark, which 
stands in the place of a constitution, two documents relating to the 
unhersh'ies oi" Christiana and Upsalil, and, by way of variety, two 
or three Norwegian and Danish national a'lTS, wttV ■Che masxt savi 
''^Bsiiit/ojis of the songs. Upon tiie whole, 0;\o\\«\i -we WMtlowtA 



.Woodstock i a TaU. 79 

much to censure in the style of this volume, \ve look upon it as 
the depository of the most ample and recent information which we 
possess concerning the countries that were the principal objects of 
the author's attention. His notices of Hanover, Germany, and the 
Netherlands, are few and superficial. 

We cannot conclude without reminding Mr. Wilson of some 
very careless sentences "which he allowed to lapse from his pen. 
We shall select but three or four out of ten times the number 
which we might have marked. 

* Nature must, unquestionably, be held as a book, every page of 
which is rich with hints of a sacred and instructive nature.' — pp. 100, 101. 

* It must be allowed, that we are all^ inclined to eat more, nay double 
the quantity, that nature requires.' — p. 122. 

Errors of the press can be no excuse here, for the construction 
of the sentence is radically ungrammatical. 

* The town of Orebfo may be classed among one of the principal in 
Sweden.* — p. 164. 

One example more, and we shall have done with this unpleasant 
labour. 

* After he had kneeled down, and prayed with two clergymen, who 
accompanied him, he laid down on his face on a block.' — p. 220. 

Such instances of. bad composition are so rare in modern works^ 
that we were quite surprised to meet them in the production of 
an author who has written so much as Mr. Rae Wilson. 



Art. VIII. Woodstock ; or, The Cavalier, A Tale of the Year Sixteen 
Hundred and Fifty-one. By the Author of " Waverley," &c. 3 Vols* 
8vo. Edinburgh^ Archibald Constable and Co. 1826. 

WhateVbr may be the opinion of the public as to their appetite 
for new additions to the Waverley library, the work before us affords 
abundant proof that the author's capability of producing them is, as 
ye% far from being exhausted. We cannot, indeed^ aver that 
* Woodstock' is destined to be enumerated among the best of his 
works* His warmest admirers must, we should think, allow that it 
is greatly inferior to ** Ivanhoe," " The Antiquary," and " Rob 
Roy ;** but they may well insist that it is as greatly superior to 
" The Abbot," " The Monastery," and those other minor creations; 
(rhich, by general consent, have been already exiled to the regions 
>f nndisturbed repose. 

* Woodstock' is chiefly remarkable for the dramatic impetuosity 
lod variety of passion and of action which pervade it. It presents 
carcely more than one or two charatters which v?eav aiv ajp- 
learance of ^novelty to those who are acquainted wilVi \Vve foroveT 
rorks of thisptolitic author. We have a knight, Sir Hem^ ^^^ 



^^flS* Woodstock ! a Tale. ^H 

who resembles the Baron of Bradwardine, without the broader 
shades of his eccentricity ; a lovely maid, his daughter, Alice, vi^ia 
is moulded in every respect on llie engaging character of Flora 
Mac-Ivor, without that intense and elevated enthusiasm by which 
the Scottish heroine was distinguislied. The portrait of WaverJq' 
.himself is not, in the main, unlike that of Markhsm Everard, the 
lover of Alice ; and the youthful Charles 11. is scarcely to be dt»> 
tinguished from the young Pretender. 

The most prominent persons in the story are decidedly Cromwell 
and a cavalier, Roger Wildrake. It appears to us that, upon the 
whole, the character of the former is pourtrayed in a masterly style. 
The author follows the best authorities in representing him as an 
enthusiast, whom the sincere profession of certain religious ten«t% 
and the political activity springing out of them, had first raised K> 
eminence among his equals, but who then becoming fired by ant- 
bition and success, followed up those tenets, and exaggerated his 
profession of them, not because they afforded him any spiritual 
happiness, but as they supplied him with the most efficacious in- 
struments for the promotion and consolidalion of his power. Some 
of the lesser features in Cromwell's character are also developed in 
' Woodstock' with great felicity ; such as his confused style of elo- 
quence, when he wished to mystify his auditors, and to refrain from 
committing himself; that occasional mental inebriety that urged 
him to issue orders, of which, in a cooler moment, he repented; 
and that secret remorse, which, even in tlie height of his power, 
and under the external appearance of the most reckless hardihood, 
perpetually reminded him of his share in the death of his soverdgn. 
If we have any thing to object to the character of that extraordinary 
republican, as depicted in the tale before us, it is, that it seems to 
be invested with too great a portion of dramatic parade. As his 
personal history has been transmitted to us by his contemporaries, 
it seems to elude the reacli of exact personation. His rude sim- 
plicity, his contempt tor forms, the quickness of his resolution, and 
its speedy appearance in action, conspire to confound those lines of 
shade and light which are so essential to the perfection of a dra- 
matic hero. Our author, however, sometimes endeavours to dis- 
place Cromwell's plain doublet for " the sceptered pall," and to 
render his eloquence more clear and emphatic, and his demeanour 
more conducive to theatrical effect, than the truth of history will 
warrant. 

But the ' Cavalier' Wildrake is a perfect picture of his class. 
Here there is not a single touch of exaggeration. He is one of the 
loyal, unfortunate, impoverished, gay, licentious gendemen of the 
day, waked from the tomb, and presented to us at the most racy 
period of his existence. Faithful, under every circumstance, to the 
young King, he yet accepts favours from any one who is disposed to 
aSbrd them, and ready to undertake any service for friend or enemjr, 



Woodstock; iaTak. 75 

«9f?ided it w91 afford him the means of renefwing hiisi inretef ate 
labits <rf dissipation. But we anticipate. We must, in some degree^ 
fidlow the prd^ of the tide. 

It bc^inc^ in thie early part of September, 1651, soon after the 
battle <n Worpe$ter| wben, in consequence at the utter destruction 
of his arspjr by tb^ repubUcan forces under Cromwell, Charles II. 
was compelled to fly. The reader is aware that the unfortunate 
monarch, in order to provide for his safety, separated himself from 
fifty or si^ty of his companions who had accompanied him from 
Worcester, and that, without impartinff his intentions to them, he 
went to Boscobel, a lone house on the borders of Stafibrdshire, 
belonging to a fanner named Penderell, who, together with bis four 
brothers, %ithfully protected the King for some days. It was while 
wider the fl^f^giiard of the Penderells that he had, on one occasion, 
token r^gi^ in an oak-tree, and heard his pursuers pass beneath 
him. From Boscobel he proceeded to Bristol, disguised as a poor 
fenper's son iH. pf an ague, in the hope that he might there find a 
ship in which to escape ; but being disappointed in that expectation, 
be entrusted himself to Colonel iVindham of Xlorsetshire, whose 
iamjly was long distinguished for its affectionate fidelity to the house 
of Stuart* Tliey proved their attachment to the King on this peril- 
ous occasion ; ismd so complete was his seclusion, that it was generally 
believed he was dead. During his stay at Colonel Windham's, his 
friends, afler many disappointments, succeeded in providing a vessel 
at Shoreham, in Sussex, which Charles reached in safety, aiter pass- 
ing through mai^ adventures in different disguises^ The vessel 
conveyed him to Fesamp, in Normandy. 

Such are the well authenticated particulars of the life of Charles 
between his flight from Worcester and his escape from the coast ; 
and it will be seen at once that to the unrivalled powers of the 
author of ^ Waverley" they presented the foundation of a tiale which 
required but little exertion from his creative hand to be rendered 
dramtttic and interesting in the highest degree. It will be observed 
that he has changed the scene from Colonel Windham's to Wood- 
stock, where, witn the license of his art, he protracts the existence 
of Rosamond's bower and the lodge adjoining it, which were thrown 
down during the civil wars under Charles I. Colonel Lee takes 
the place of Windham, find his son and daughter compensate us 
for the absence of that venerable old matron, who expressed her 
delist in being reserved to be in$lrumental towards the preservation 
of me young King, after having lost three sons and one grandchild in 
defence ef bis father. There seems to be no other reason for trans-*^ 
ferring the principil scenes of the story from Dorsetshire to Wood- 
stock, than that the supposed continuance of Rosamond's bowei^ 
might-be made use of in lengthening out the narrative, in heightening 
the interest of the inddents^ and conducting them to a dramatic 
mndu^ion; 



76 Woodstock 1 a Tale. 



I 



The first voiuine is chiefly conversHtionHi, Dialogue forms I 
favourite means, as they cerminly are the only legitimate ones, whjl 
the author usually utfopts for introducing his characters, as wellv 
displaying the manners of the period of wliich he treals, to his ' ■ 
readers. We are accordingly first led to the parish-churcli of the ,-, 
town of Woodstock during the time of service, which is performed, « 
not accordinji to the ritual of the Church of England, but upon the . 
Presbyterian model, by the Ilev. Neheiniah Holdenoiigh. We : 
should rather have said that the service was attempted to be per- = 
formed by this reverend gentleman, for no sooner does he mount - 
the pulpit, than he is forcibly dragged from it by an ' Independent ^ 
orator' of Cromwell's armv, yclep'd Tomkins, otherwise ' Trusty ^ 
Joe,' who treats his audience to a sermon quite in the style of that ." 
period, when every metaphor and precept of Scripture was invested ^ 
with an immediate application to the events of the day. This Tom- . 
kins is a very active agent in the hands of the author. He paints him ^ 
.as a consummate hypocrite and spy, sent down by Cromwell, in the s 
first instance, with a small guard, to take possession for the Parlift- i 
jnent of the lodge at Wootlstock. After finishing his sermon, he ■ 
selB out to execute his mission. His proceedings are described in ■ 
the author's happiest manner, in a chapter headed by the following = 
beautiful stanza: 

' Come forth, old man— Tliy daughter's side Tlj 

KIs now the fitting place far thee: ^Hj 

When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride, ^^H 

I'he youthful tendril yet may hide ^^^ 

The ruins of the parent tree.' p. 28. ^^| 
""The soldier, leaving his companions in the town, went alone ^^| 

irds the park of Woodstock. ^^| 

' A battlemenled portal of Gothic appearance defended the entraneEP 
to the avenue. It was of mixed architecture, but on the whole, though '' 
composed of the styles of different ages, wTien it had received additions, ' 
had a mriking and imposing eiFect. An immense gate composed of ' 
rails of hammered iron, with many a flourish and acroll, displaying as ' 
its upperinoBt ornament the ill-fated cypher of C. R., was now decayed, 
partjV with rust, partly from the effects of violence. 

' Tile stranger paused, aa if uncertain whether he should demand ' 
or assay entrance. He looked through the grating down an avenue 
skirted by majestic oaks, which led onward with a gentle curve, as if 
into the depths of some ample and ancient forest. The wicket of the 
large iron gate being lefl unwittingly open, the soldier was tempted to 
enter, yet with some hesitation, aa he that intrudes upon ground 
which he conjectures may be prohibited — indeed his manner showed 
uiore reverence for the scene than could have been expected from big 
condition and Character. He slackened his stately and consequential 
pace, aiid at length stood still, aod looked around him. 

' Not far from the gate, he saw rising from the trees one or two 
ancient and venerable turrets, bearing each its own vane of rare device 

'tterJpg in the autumn sun. These indicated the ancient hunting 



Woodstock :' a Tale. 77 

seat, or Lodge, as it was called, which had, since the time of Henry IL, 
been occasionally the residence of the English monarchs, when it 
]^eased them to visit the woods of Oxford, which then so abounded 
with game, that, according to old Fuller, huntsmen and falconers were 
nowhere better pleased. The situation which the Lodge occupied was 
a piece of flat ground, now planted with sycamores, not far from the 
entrance to that magnificent spot where the spectator first stops to gaze 
open Blenheim, to think of Marlborough *8 victories, and to applaud 
or criticise the cumbrous magnificence of Vanburgh's style. 

* There too paused our military preacher, but with other thoughts, 
and for other purpose, than to admire the scene around him. It was 
not long afterwards when he beheld two persons, a male and a female, 
approaching slowly, and so deeply engaged in their own conversation 
that they did not raise their eyes to observe that there stood a stranger 
in the path before them. The soldier took advantage of their state 
of abstraction, and, desirous at once to watch their motions and avoid 
their observation, he glided beneath one of the huge trees which 
skirted the path, and whose boughs, sweeping the ground on every side, 
insured him against discovery, unless in case of an actual search. 

* In the mean time, the gentleman and lady continued to advance, 
directing their course to a rustic seat, which still enjoyed the sun- 
beams, and was placed adjacent to the tree where the stranger was 
concealed. 

* The man was elderly, yet seemed bent more by sorrow and infir- 
mity, than by the weight of years. He wore a mourning cloak, over 
a dress of the same melancholy colour, cut in that picturesque form, ' 
which Vandyke has rendered immortal. But although the dress was 
handsome, it was put on and worn with a carelessness which showed . 
the mind of the wearer ill at ease. His aged, yet still handsome 
countenance, had the same air of consequence which distinguished 
his dress and his gait. A striking part of his appearance was a long 
white beard, which descended far over the breast of his slashed doublet, 
and looked singular from its contrast in colour with his habit. 

* The young lady, by whom this venerable gentleman seemed to be 
in some degree supported as they walked arm in arm, was a slight and 
sylph-like form, with a person so delicately made, and so beautiful in 
countenance, that it seemed the earth on which she walked was too 
grossly massive a support for a creature so aerial. But mortal beauty 
must share human sorrows. The eyes of the beautiful being showed 
tokens of tears ; her colour was heightened as she listened to her aged 
companion ; and it was plain, from his melancholy yet displeased 
look, that the conversation was as distressing to himself as to her. 
When they sate down on the bench we have mentioned, the gentle- 
man's discourse could be distinctly overheard by the eves-dropping 
soldier, but the answers of the young lady reached his ear rather less 
distinctly. 

* " It is not to be endured," said the old man passionately ; " it 
would stir up a paralytic wretch to start up a soldier^ My people 
have been thinned, I grant you^ or have fallen off from me in these 
times — I owe them no grudge for it, poor knaves ; what should they 
do when the pantry has no bread and the buttery no ale? But we 
have still about us some rugged foresters of the old Woodstock breed 
— old as myself most of them — what of that? old wood seldotcv 
warpi in the wetting; — I will hold out the old house, and it mWxiot. 



78 Woodstock : a Tale. 

be the first time that I have held it against ten times the atrengtb 4 
we hear of now." 

'" Alas! my dear father," — said the young lady, !n a tone wH 
seemed to intimate his proposal of defence to be altogether despersa 

• " And why, alas ?" said the gentleman, angrily ; " is it becairii' 
shot my door on a score or two of these blood-thirsty hypocrite *" 

' " But their masters can as easily send a regiment or ai 
if they will," replied the lady; " and what good would your pre 
defence do, excepting to exasperate them to your uttef destrucCiotfH 

* " Be it so, Alice," replied her father : " I have lived my time (T 
beyond it. 1 have outlived the kindest and most prince-like of ibA 
What do I do on the earth since the dismal thirtieth of Jam 






I parricide of that day was a signal to all true servants of Chai^' 
Stuart to avenge his death, or die as soon after as they could find a 
worthy opportunity." 

' " Do not speak thus, Sir," said Alice Lee : " it does not becorae 
your gravity and your worth to throw away that life which may yet be 
of service to your k4ng and country, — it will not and cannot always be 
thus. England will not long endure the rulers which these bad timaiL 
have assigned her. In' the meanwhile — [here a few words escaped the 
listener's ears] — and beware of that impatience, which makes bad 
worse."' — Vol.i, pp.30 — 36. 

Thus Alice Lee endeavours to soothe the spirit of her aged father, 
Sir Henry, who was irritated to an extreme degree by intelligence 
he had received that commissioners liad been appointed by Par- 
liament to sequestrate the parks and the property of Woodstocky 
where he had long resided as ranger. She adds to her own en- 
treaties the advice of her uncle Everard, that he would receive the 
commissioners courteously ; and after enduring the unreflecting pas- 
sionate opposition of the old man for some titne, she at length suo 
ceeds in inducing him to acquiesce. Sir Henry is a great admirer, 
of Will Shakspeare, and the remembrance of a single passage 
from his favourite bard is sufficient to disarm him in the midst of 
his hottest anger. At the close of their conversation, the military 
preacher, abandoning his " lealy screen," made his appearance be-: 
fore the old knight and his daughter, who were not a little am^ed' 
at such an unexpected vision. The soldier, however, soon declared 
his office as steward to the commissioners, Desborough, Harrison, 
and Bletson, and produced his warrant. Sir Henry, forgetting his 
promise to Alice, gives the steward a rather uucourteous reception J ' 
angry words pass on both sides ; weapons are unsheathed ; and a 
short contest ensues, in which the Knight is easily defealeti. The 
screams of Ahce brought to his aid Joceliue JolifFe, the under- 
keeper; and 

' At this moment anotiicr auxiliary rushed out of the thicket to the 
Knight's assistance. It was the large wolf-dog, in strength a maitifii,in 
form and almost in fleetness a greyhound. Bevis was the noblest of 
the kind which ever pulled down a stag, tawny -coloured like a lion, 
tFj't/j a black muzzle and black feet, just edged wkh a Uae of white_^ ^ 
— "i(/ the toes. He was ns tractable *l&c^^5"" "' — ^ ^~^* 



Woodstock : a Tate. 79 

Just as he was about to rush upon the soldier, the words << Peace, 
Bevis!" from Sir Henry, converted the lion into a lamb, and, instead 
of puUiDg the soldier down, he walked round and round, and snuffed, 
SB if using all his saeacity to discover who the stranger could be, 
towards whom, though of so questionable an appearance, he was 
enjoined forbearance. Apparently he was satisfied, for he laid aside 
his doubtful and threatening demonstrations, lowered his ears, smoothed 
down his bristles, and wagged his tail.' — Vol. i. pp. 55, 5Q* 

The Knight, on second thoughts, surrenders to the soldier, and 
sends JoIi£fe With him to the lodge to give up possession of it, 
while he himself and his daughter resolve on taking up their resi- 
dence for the present in the under-keeper's hut by Rosamond's 
welL The lodge is described as ^ an old Gothic building, irregu- 
larly constructed, as the humour of the English monarchs led them 
to taste the pleasures of Woodstock Chase.' 

' The oldest part of the structure had been named by tradition Fair 
Rosamond^s Tower ; it was a small turret of great height, with narrow 
windows, and walls of massive thickness. The tower had no opening 
to the ground, or means of descending, a great part of the lower 
portion being solid mason-work. It was traditionally said to have been 
accessible only by a sort of small drawbridge, which might be dropped* 
at pleasure from a little portal, near the summit of the turret, to the 
bafiljementa of another tower of the same construction, but twenty 
feet lower, »id containing only a winding staircase, oalled in- Wood- 
stock Love's Ladder ; because it is said, that by ascending this stair- 
case to the top of the tower, and then making use of the drawbridge, 
Henry obtained access to the chamber of his paramour/ — 

' The rest of the Lodge was of considerable extent, and of dif- 
ferent ages ; comprehending a nest of little courts, surrounded by 
buildings which corresponded with each other, sometimes within 
dbors, sometimes by crossing the courts, and frequently in both ways. 
The different heights of the building announced that they could only 
be connected by the usual variety of staircases, which exercised the 
limbs of our ancestors in- the sixteenth and earlier centuries, and 
seem sometimes to have been, contrived for no other purpose.' — Vol.i. 
pp. 74, 75. 

Joli£Fe and his companion found unobstructed entrance into the 
lodge, and the influence of the former over the young housekeeper, 
' Phoebe Mayflower, the lightest-footed and lightest-hearted wench 
that ever tripped the sod in- Woodstock-Park,' soon obtained for 
them ^ a mighty venison pasty, adorned with parsley, which was 
placed on the board on a clean napkin,' and also ^ a stone bottle of 
strong wat^s, with a black-jack fiiU of ale,' with which they pro- 
ceeded, without much ceremony, to form an acquaintance, while, 
Phcebe was slily whispered by her swain to attend the Knight and 
her young lady jn the hut. 

Sir Henry and Alice, on their arrival at the cottage, found it 
already occupied by a youthful stranger in a riding habit, v^Vio, xx^ow 
dropping bis mant}^ in which his face was muffled, appeared X.o \^^ 



80 Woodstock 1 a Tah: 

' Mnrkham Everard,* Alice's pousjti, who was 'teubd'to^ti 

by n secret link, much dearer to both than that of their mtei-e rtla- 

tionship. Markham, however, had not been lately upon good fernis * 
widi the Knight, as he and his father had become Roundheads, prdar< 
ring the fortunes of the republic to the then romantic cause of yae * 
fugitive King. The reception wliicb he experienced from Sr ' 
Henry was by no means a cordial one. In fact, they almost fought ; 
the explanations of Kverard seemed only to increase the anger of : 
the Knight, and they separated iti high dudgeon, to the ind- ■ 
nite grief of Alice. But Everard, who possessed a mind of do 
ignoble stamp, no sooner heard of the circumstances which com- 
pelled the old man and his daughter to lake up their residence in the " 
cottage than he formed his resolution. He proceeded towards the " 
Lodge, and on his way met Wildrake, an old college-chum, who, 
though a cavalier of the first water, felt no hesitation to act the cha- 
racter of secretary to his friend, in order to avoid tlie peril of imper- ^ 
tinent enquiries. , 

The liimily of Everard was particularly esteemed by Cromwell; ^ 
and when Markhaoi, accompanied by Wildrake, sought admittance :: 
into the Lodge, Tonikins, the steward, did not dare to offer any ■ 
opposition. Wildrake spent the night in carousing, Markham occu- <■ 
pied it in writing a memorial, adoiessed to Cromwell, urging ths ■ 
expediency of restoring Sir Henry Lee to his residence in ilie ■ 
Lodge. The circumstance of Iiis sending this document by Wild* ■ 
rake to Cromwell naturally serves to introduce that personage into. * 
the scene. Nor does there seem to be any thing inconsistent wl(h .. 
the character of Wildrake In entrusting bim with such a missioa;' ^ 
for, though he hated Cromwell, yet he also feared him, and was ' 
curious ' to see the old rascal, after all, were it but to say that he , 
bad seen him.' .^ 

Wildrake proceeded to Windsor, and found Cromwell in the i^ 
guard-house of the castle drilling a new recruit. The appearance ^ 
of Cromwell is well described; and a good deal of his character is <i 
displayed in the conversation which he subsequently held with tlte- *i 
disguised cavalier, in his apartments in the castle. The upshotdf ^ 
the embassy is, tliat the General addresses a warrant to Markham, * 
empowering liim to expel the commissioners and their officers from ^ 
Wood stock -Lodge ; but this warrant was accompanied with a verbal ? 
condition, entrusted to Wildrake, that if the fugitive monarch 
should direct his steps to the Lodge, as Cromwell suspected he ^ 
would do, he (Markham) would undertake to deliver up llie roy^j^ 
guest to the republic, l 

' " Markham Everard and tliou," said Cromwell, " must have an [ 
eye in every hair of your head." While lie spoke, a flush passed'oviB' ^ 
his brow, he rose from his chair, and paced the apartment in agitatiaKi ' 
" Woe to you, if you suffer the young adventurer to escape me j*-^ 
yuu had better be in the deepest dungeon in Europe, than breathe' t)C I' 
air'sf England^ shoold yoa but dream of playing me folae. 



Woadstocki a Tale, 81 

«poktt» fred/ to theo, fellow <^ more freely than is my wont— -the lime 
required it. But, to share my confidence is like keeping a watch over 
a powder-magazine, the least and most insignificant spark blows thee to 
awes. Tell your master what I said — but not how I said it — « Fie^ 
that I should have been betrayed into the distemperature of passion ! — 
Begone, sirrah. Pearson shall bring thee sealed orders — Yet, stay — ^ 
thou hast something to ask.*' 

' ^ I would know," said Wildrake, to whom the visible anxiety of the 
General gave some confidence, ^^ what is the figure of this young gallant, 
in case I should find him ?** 

* << A tall, raw-boned, swarthy lad, they say he has shot up into. 
Here is his picture by a good hand, some time since.'* He turned 
round one of the portraits which stood with its face against the wall ; 
but it proved not to be that of Charles the Second, but of his unhappy 
father. 

' The first motion of Cromwell indicated a purpose of hastily re- 
l^acin^ the picture, and it seemed as if an efibrt was necessary to repress 
his dismclination to look upon it. But he did repress it, and, placing 
the picture against the wall, withdrew slowly and sternly, as if, in de- 
fiance of his own feelings he was determined to gain a place f^om which 
to see it to advantage. It was well for Wildrake that his dangerous 
companion had not turned an eye on him, for his blood also kindled 
when he saw the portrait of his master in the hands of the chief author 
of his death. Being a fierce and desperate man, he commanded his 
passion with great difficulty ; and if^ on its first violence, he had 
been provided with a suitable weapon, it is possible Cromwell would 
never nave ascended higher in his bold ascent towards supreme power. 
' But this natural and sudden flash of indignation, which rushed 
through the veins of an ordinary man like Wildrake, wati presently 
subdued, when confronted with the strong yet stifled emotion displayea 
by so powerful a character- as Cromwell. As the cavalier looked on 
his dark and bold countenance, agitated by inward and indescribable 
feelings, he found his own violence of spirit die away and lose itself 
in fear and wonder. So true it is, that as greater lights swallow up 
and extinguish the display of those which are less, so men of great, 
capacious, and over-ruling minds, bear aside and subdue, in their 
chmax of passion, the more feeble wills and passions of others ; as, 
when a river joins a brook, the fiercer torrent shoulders aside the 
smaller stream. 

* Wildrake stood a silent, inactive, and almost a terrified spectator, 
wiule Cromwell, assuming a firm sternness of eye and manner, as one who 
compels himself to look on what some strone internal feeling renders 
paijoful and disgustful to him, proceeded, m brief and interrupted 
expteasions, but yet with a firm voice, to comment on the portrait 
of the late King. His words seemed less addressed to Wildrake, than 
to be the spontaneous unfourthening of his own bosom, swelling under 
recollection of the past and anticipation of the future. 

* " That Flemish painter," he said — « that AntOnio Vandyke — 
what a power he has ! Steel may mutilate, warriors may waste and 
destroy — still the Kins stands uninjured by time; and our grand- 
diildren, while they read his history, may look on his image, and com- 
pare the melancholy features with the woful tale. — It was a stern 
aeceaaity — it was an awful deed! The calm pride of that eye mi^bi 



Woodstock; a Tale. 

lave ruTed w'orfis of crouching Frenchmen, or supple Itoltsna, or 
formal Spaoiftrds, but ita glances only rousted Ihe native cour^-of 
the sietu Englishman. — Lay not on poor sinrul nian, wh use breath is , 
in his nostrils, the blame that he falls, when Heaven never gave him 
strength of nerves to stand ! The weak rider is thrown by his unruly 
horse, and trampled to dealli — the strongest man, the beet cavalier, 
springs to the empty saddle, and uses bit and spur till the fiery horee | 
knows its master. Who blames him, who, mounted alof^, rides triumph- i 
antly amongst the people, for having succeeded, where the unskilful 
and feeble felJ and died? Verily he bath his reward : Then, what is 
that piece of painted canvass to me more than others? No ; let hira 
show to others the reproaches of that cold, cabn face, that proud yet 
complaining eye : Those who hnve acted on higher respects have do 
cause to start at painted shadows. Not wealth nor power brought rac 
from my obscurity. The oppressed consciences, the injured liberties of 
England, were the banner that I followed." 

' He raised his voice so high, as if pleading in his own defence 
before some tribunal, that Pearson, the officer in attendance, looked 
into the apartment; and observing his master, with his eyes kindling, 
his arm extended, his foot advanced, and bis voice raised, like a 
general in the act of commanding the advance of his army, he instantly 
withdrew, , 

' " It was other than selfish regards that drew me forth to action," j 
continued Cromwell, "and 1 dare the world — ay, living or dead i 
challenge — to assert that I armed for a private cause, or as a means 
of enlarging my fortunes. Neither was there a trooper in the regiment * 
who came there with less of evil will to yonder unhappy " ' 

' At this jnomeot the apartment opened, and a gentlewoman entered, ^ 
who, from her resemblance to the General, although her features were i 
soft and feminine, might be immediately recognised as his daughter. , 
She walked up to Cromwell, gently but firmly passed her arm through 
his, and said to him in a persuasive tone, " Father, this ia not well — ' 
you have promised me this should not happen." 

' The General hung down his bead, like one who was either ■* 
ashamed of the passion to which he had given way, or of the influence " 
which was exercised over him. He yielded, however, to the alFeG< ' 
tionate Impulse, and \e.H the apartment, without again turning hli % 
head towards the portrait which bad so much affected him.' — Vol.ii. * 
pp. 216-221. "i 

Wildrake, hair-brained fellow as he was, carefully conveyed the ^ 
warrant to his friend, wholly forgetting the verbal conditions so ^ 
emphatically enjoined by Cromwell. In the mean time, according to y 
the incontrovertible authority of the novel, many pranks had been l, 
played on the commissioners, Desborough, Harrison, and BletsoD, i 
who had taken np their residence in the Lodge, in order to send i 
them away by means less legitimate than the orders of the Dictator. \ 
Tlie. characters of these three heroes are pourtrayed with great ' 
force ; though in many respects they widely differed from each " 
other, they all agreed perfectly in their abject subservience to 
superstitious apprehensions. This weakness is supposed to have ^ 
been praetised upon to a very annoying extent by the ingenuity of , 
'**- Hochccliffe, chaplain at tbc Lodge, and an active royalist.' [ 



Woodstock : a Tale^ S3 

The oommissioners, by the Doctor's contrivances, were jfrightened 
almost out of their lives, by having their beds suddenly whirled up 
to the ceiling and inverted ; by being compelled to fight with dread- 
ful phantoms, and by various other astounding devices, which 
were carried on through the assistance of the intricate recesses in 
Rosamond's bower. To the whole of this machinery we object. It 
is beneath the rank even of decent melodrame, and altogether un- 
worthy of the "author. It lengthens out the story unnecessarily, and 
forms a combination of that species of pseudo-horrors, which have 
been hitherto confined to the Minerva press. 

The warrant which Cromwell sent Everard by Wildrake would 
have been sufficient to effect the removal of the commissioners ; at 
least it would have been so with the new i)rospect which was held 
out to them, of being immediately employed in disposing of the royal 
property, and disparking of the King's forest, at Windsor. This was, 
after all, the great bait which drew them from the Lodge. Soon 
after their departure, ^ Sir Heni^ L^, with his small household, 
were again in possession of their old apartments,' and, what was by no 
means an unwelcome blessing, they had the good fortune to find the 
larder well filled with all sorts of provender. The old knight rubbed 
his hands with great glee ; Phoebe and Joliffe did every thing in 
their power to set the place in order ; and even Alice, so delighted 
was she with the restoration of her family to the Lodge, particu- 
larly efiected as it was through the exertions of Everard, that, in 
the midst of the bustle, she did not hesitate to step in her russet 
gown to Rosamond's Well for a pitcher of its pure water, for which 
her father had an ancient predilection. 

* This fountain of old memory hdd been once adorned with archi- 
tectural ornaments in the style of the sixteenth century, chiefly relating 
to ancient mjrthology. All these were now wasted and overthrown, 
and existed only as moss-covered ruins, while the living spring continued 
to furnish its daily treasures, unrivalled in purity, though the quantity 
was small, gushing out amid disjointed stones, and bubbling through 
fragments of ancient sculpture. 

' With a light step and a laughing brow the young Lady of Lee 
was approaching the fountain, usually so solitary, when she paused on 
beholding some one seated beside it. She proceeded, however, with 
confidence, though with a step something less gay, when she observed 
that the person was a female ; — some menial perhaps from the town, 
whom a fanciful mistress occasionally dispatched for the water of a 
spring, aiipposed to be peculiarly pure, or some aged woman, who 
made a httki trade by carrying it to the better sort of families, and 
selling it for a trifle. There was no cause, therefore, for apprehension^ 

* Yet the terrors of the times were so great, that Alice did not even 
«ee a-stranger of her own sex without some apprehension. Denaturalized 
women had as usual followed the camps of both armies during the Civil 
War ; who on the one' side with open profligacy and profanity, on the 
ether with the fraudful tone of fanaticism or hypocrisy, exercised nearly 
in like degree their talents for murder or plunder. But it was broad 
dayligh'^ the distance from the Lodge was but trifling, arid ll\<ixsL^Vv ^ 

G 2 



94 Woodstock : a Tale. 

liulo alarmed ot seeing a stranger where she expected deep solJLudd, 
the daughter of the haughty old Knight had too much of the IJou 
about her to tear without Bome determined and decided cause. 

* Alice walked, therefore, gravely on toward the fount, and com- 
posed her looks as she took a hasty glance of the female who was 
seated tlierc, and addressed herself to her task of filling her pitcher, 

' The woman, whose presence had surprised and somewhat startled 
Alice Lee, was a person of the lower rank, whose red cloak, russet 
kirtle, handkerchief trimmed with Coventry blue, and a coarse steeple 
hat, could not indicate at best any thing higher than the wife of a small 
farmer, ur, perhaps, the helpmatf of a bailiff or hind. It was well if 
she proved nothing worse. Her clothes, indeed, were of good mate- 
rials; but, what the female eye discerns with half a glance, they 
were indifferently adjusted and put on. This looked as if they did not 
belong to the person by whom they were worn, but were articles of 
which she had become the mistress by some accident, if not by some 
successful robbery. Her size, too, as did not escape Alice, e*en in the 
short perusal she afforded the stranger, was unusual ; her feature* 
swarthy and singularly harsh, and her manner altogether unpropitious. 
The young lady almost wished, as she stooped to till her pitcher, that 
she had rather turned back, and sent Joceline on the errand; but re- 
pentance was too late now, and she had oniy to disguise as well as she 
could her unpleasant feelings. 

' " The blessings of this bright day to one bright as it is," said the 
stranger, with no unfriendly, though a harsh voice. 

' " I thank you," said Alice in reply ; and continued to fill her pitcher 
busily, by assistance of an iron bowl which remained still chained to one 
of the stones beside the fountain. 

' " Perhaps, my pretty maiden, if you would accept my help, yow 
work would be sooner done," fiaid the stranger. 

' " I thank you," said AUce; " but had I needed assistance, I could 
have brought those with me who had rendered it." 

' " I do not doubt of that, my pretty maiden," answered the female ; 
" there are too many lads in Woodstock with eyes in their heads. — No 
doubt you could have brought with you any one of them who looked on 
you, if you had listed." 

' Alice replied not a syllable, for she did not like the freedom used 
by the speaker, and was desirous to break off the conversation. 

' " Are you offended, my pretty mistress ?" said the stranger ; " that 
was far from my purpose. — 1 will put my question otherwise — Arc the 
good dames of Woodstock so careless of their pretty daughters as to 
let the flower of them all wander about the wild chase without a mother, 
or a somebody lo prevent the fox from running away with the lamb ? — 
that carelessness, methinks, shows small kindness." 

' " Content yourself, good woman : I am not fur from protection and 
assistance," said Alice, who liked less and less the effrontery of her 
new acquaintance.'— Vol. ii, pp. 162—166. 

At this moment the nolile hound Bevis broke through the bushes, 
and stood by her side, ' fixing on the stranger his eyes lliat ginnced 
fire, raising every hnir on his gallant inane as upright as the bristles 
of a wild boar when hard pressed ;' and after some further parley, 
the stranger dropped something into the pitcher, and hastily dis- 
njipeared under cover of the wood. Duon the pitcher being 



>»>tv 



WooiOocks a Tabe. M 

9^«mly «ii^«4» there waa found at the bottom < a gold xing, in 
which was set a ruby, apparently of some value.' 

The whole of this scene is well conducted : it is, however, ex- 
ceeded in effect by the second appearance of this gipsey. Sir Henry, 
after enjoying a good dinner, the first that he had known for s<»ne 
time,' threw himself back in his easy chair, and sunk into a sound 
slumber. His affectionate daughter, who was in the apartment with 
him, 

^ Not Tenturifig to move but on tip-toe, took some needle-work, and 
bringing it close by the old man's side, employed her finsers on this 
task, bending her eyes ftom time to time on her parent, with the affec- 
tionate zeal, if not the effective power, of a guardian angel. At 
length, as the light faded away, and night came on, she was about 
to cause candles to be broueht. But, remembering how indifferent a 
couch Jbceline's cottage hao afforded, she could not think of interrupt- 
ing the first sound and refreshing sleep which her father had enjoyed, in 
aliprobability, for the last two nights and days. 

' She herself had no other amusement, as she sat facing one of the 
great oriel windows, the same by which Wildrake had on a former occa- 
sion looked in Upon Tomkins and Joceline while at their compotations, 
than watching the clouds, which a lazy wind sometimes chased from 
the broad disk of the harvest-moon, sometimes permitted to accu- 
mulate, and exclude her brightness. There is, I know not why, some- 
diing peculiarly pleasing to the imagination, in contemplating the 
Queen of Night, when she is ivadingy as the expression is, among the 
vapours which she has not power to dispel, and which on their side 
are unable entirely to quench her lustre. It is the striking image of 
patient virtue, calmly pursuing her path through good report and bad 
report, having that excellence in herself which ought to command ail 
admiration, but bedinuned in the eyes of the world, by suffering, by 
misfortune, by calumny. 

* As some such reflections, perhaps, were passing through Alice's 
imagination, she became sensible, to her surprise and alarm, that some 
one had clambered up upon the window, and was looking into the 
room. The idea of supernatural fear did not in the slightest degree 
agitate Alice. She was too much accustomed to the place and situ- 
ation ; for folks do not see spectres in the scenes with which they have 
been familiar from infancy. But danger from marauders in a disturbed 
' country was a more formidable subject of apprehension, and the thought 
armed Alice, who was naturally high-spirited, with such desperate 
courage, that she snatched a pistol from the wall, on which some fire- 
arms hung, and while she screamed to her father to awake, had the 
presence of mind to present it at the intruder. She did so the more 
readily, because she imagined she recognised in the visage, which she 

girtialiy saw, the features of the woman whom she had met with at 
osamond's Well, and which had appeared to her peculiarly harsh and 
auspicious. Her father at the same time seized his sword, and cao^ 
fioorward, while the person at the window, alarmed at these demonsti^ 
lions, and endeavouring to descend, missed footing, as had Cavaliero 
yTildrake before her, and went down to the earth with ho small 
Q^ae. Nor was the reception on the bosom of our comviofck \!c^^9Rftx 
dtber soft or safe; for, by a most terrific bark and groN9\^ i^v^V^i^ 

G d ' 



te Woodstock ; a Tale. ^M 

llat Bevis had come up and seized on the party, ers he or she colild 
gain tlieir fc£t. 

. ' " Hold fast, but worry not," said the old Knight. — " Alice, thou 
art the queen of wenches J Stand fust lierc till 1 run domi and secure 

the rascal." 

' " For God's sake, no, my dearest fatlier !" Alice exclaimed ; " Joce- 
line will be up immediately — Hark ! — I hear him." 

' There waa indeed a bustle below, and more llian one light danced 
to and fro in confusion, while those who bore them called to each other, 

J&t suppressing their voices as they spoke, as men who would only be 
eard by those they addressed. The individual who had falleu under 
the power of Bevis was moat impacicut in hh situation, and called with 
least precaution. — " Here, Lee — Forester — take the dog off, else i 
must shoot him." 

' " If though dost," said Sir Henry from the window, " I blow thy 
brains out on the spot — Thieves, Juceline, thieves! come up and secure 
this ruffian. — Bevis, hold on 1" 

' " Back, Bevis ; down, sir," cried Joeeline. — "I am coming, I am 
coming, Sir Henry — Saint Michael, I shall go distracted !" i 

' A terrible thought suddenly occurred to Alice, — could Joceline > 
have become unfaithful, that he was calling Bevis off the villain, i 
instead of encouraging the trusty dog lo secure him ? Her father, .i 
raeantime, moved perhaps by some suspicion of the same kind, hastily 
stepped aside out of the moonlight, and pulled Alice close to liim, so ' 
as to be invisible from without, yet so placed as to hear what should " 
pass. Tlie scuffle between Bevis and his prisoner seemed to be coded * 
by Joccline's interference, and there was close whispering for an in- ■'■! 
Slant as of people in consultation.' — Vol. ii, pp. 181 — 1S5. * 

After the lapse of n few minutes, another form presented itself at ^ 
the window, pushed open the lattice, and sprung into the parlour. ^ 
This was no other than Albert, Sir Henry's only son, who, after « 
the first alarm, informed them that he liad chosen this mode of en- 
trance, as he understood tliat there was a red coat in the house, 
alluding to Tomkins, who, on some excuse or another, which was 
rendered more palatable by his flattering manner, lingered about ^ 
the Lodge alter the commissioners had left it. Albert was at thia 
time upon his return from the battle of Worcestei-, in which his 
party had been so signally defeated. He brought news, that the J 
King had escaped by Bristol, and he presented to bis father a raw- , 
looking Scotch lad, who attended him as a page, ' the son of a noble ;. 
lord of Scotland, who followed the great Montrose's banner — af- : 
terwards joined the King in Scotland, and came with him as far as 
"Wor'ster.' This pace bore the name of Louis Kerneguy, son of ^ 
LordKillstoweraofKincartlineshire, a name so barbarous to the old ,' 
Knight's ear, that it was for some time before be was able to pro- * 
nounce it. It sounded to liim * like a north-west wind, rumbling and ^ 
roaring among heather and rocks.' The appearance of iVIaster Louis * 
Kerneguy fully corresponded with the rudeness of his name. *' 

' Jfe was a tall, raw-boned lad, with a shoct \ieaA n't Viwt, &eT^ tti, " 
^^ie many of his country, nhile the harshness ot V\p iivxUonA ^e«.V.\vtei 



Woodstock : a Tale. 87 

was increased by the contrast of his complexion, turned almost black 
by the exposure to all sorts of weather, which, in that skulking and 
rambling mode of life, the fugitive royalists had been obliged to 
encounter. His address was by no means prepossessing, being a 
mixture of awkwardness and forwardness, and showing, in a remark- 
able degree, how a want of easy address may be consistent with an 
admirable stock of assurance. His face intimated having received 
some recent scratches, and the care of Dr. Rocheclifie had decorated 
it with a number of patches, which even enhanced its natural plain- 
ness. Yet the eyes were brilliant and expressive, and, amid his ugliness 
— ^ for it amounted to that degree of irregularity — the face was not 
deficient in some lines which expressed both sagacity and resolution.'-^ 
Vol.ii. pp.101, 102. 

The Knight was utterly astonished at the extraordinary faculty of 
consumption which Louis displayed at the supper-table, but at the 
same time admired the natural grace with which he dipped his 
fingers in the ewer, and dried them with the napkin, when he had 
satisfied bis enormous appetite. The evening passed away in high 
merriment, which was not a little increased by the unexpected ac- 
cession of Wildrake to the company, who sung some royalist songs, 
to the great delight of Sir Henry, and at length all retired to riesL 

' Albert and his page were ushered by Joceline to what was called 
the Spanish Chamber, a huge old scrambling bed-room, rather in a 
dilapidated condition, but furnished with a large standing bed for the 
master, and a truckle-bed for the domestic, as was common at a much 
later period in old English houses, where the gentleman often required 
the assistance of a groom of the chambers to help him to bed, if the 
hospitality had been exuberant. The walls were covered with hangings 
of Cordovan leather, stamped with gold, and representing fights between 
the Spaniards and Moriscoes, bull^feasts, and other sports peculiar to 
the Peninsula, from which it took its name of the Spanish Chamber. 
These hangings were in some places entirely torn down, in others 
defaced and hanging in tatters. Biit Albert stopped not to make ob- 
servations, anxious, it seemed, to get Joceline out of the room ; which 
he achieved by hastily answering his offers of fresh fuel, and more 
liquor, in the negative, and returning, with equal conciseness, the 
nnder-keeper's good wishes for the evening. He at length retired, 
sonaewhat unwillingly, and as if he thought that his young master 
might have bestowed a few more words upon a faithful old retainer after 
to Jong^ absence. 

' Jolifie was no sooner gone, than, before a single word was spoken 
between Albert Lee and his page, the former hastened to the door, 
examined lock, latch, and bolt, and made them fast, with the most scru- 
pulous attention. He superadded to these precautions that of a long 
*crew-bolt, which he brought out of his pocket, and which he screwed 
on to the staple in such a manner as to render it impossible to withdraw 
it, or open the door, unless by breaking it down. The page held a 
Jight to him during the operation, which his master went through with, 
much exactness and dexterity. But when Albert arose itom \v\% 'NHNfc^^ 
on which he had rested daring the accomplishraent oH l\v\^ t«i&V, <5^^ 
manner of the companiona was on a sudden entirely cYioa^fe^ \.oN«at^'^ 

G 4 ' ' 




SS JFotxkioci ,- a Tak. 

eaeh oUtei. TKe honourable Matter Kemeguy, from a cub! 
«f ft raw Scotsman, «eeme<l to have acquired at ooce all the grace 
and ease of motion and nianner, whkh could be given by an ao 
quaintance of the earliest and most familiar kind with the best company 
of the time. 

' lie gave the light he held to Albert, with the easy indHFerence of 
a auparior, who ratner graces than troubles his dependent by giving him 
some slight service to perform. Albert, with the greatest appearance 
of deference, aBsunied in his turn the character of torch-bearer, and 
lighted hie page across the chamber, without turning bis back upon 
hiRi as he did so. He then set the light on a table by the bed-side, 
and approaching the young man with deep reverence, received from him 
the soiled green jacket, with the same profound respect as if he had been 
a first lord of the bed-chamber, or other utticer of the household of the 
highest distinction, disrobing his Sovereign of the Mantle of the Garter, 
Tne persnn to whom this ceremony was addressed endured it for a 
minute or two wilh profound gravity, and then bursting; out a-laughing, 
exclaimed to Albert, '* What a uevil means all this fonnality P — 
thgu complimentest with these miserable rags as if they were silke 
and sables, and with poor I.ouis Kerneguy as if be were the King of 
Great Britain?" 

' " And if Your Majesty's commands, and the circurastunces of 
the time, have made me for a moment seem to forget that you are 
my sovereign, surely I may be permitted to render my hoiiiBge as 
such wliile you are m your own royal palace of Woodstock." ' — Vol. if. 
pp.229— 232. 

Ths gipsey and the Scottish (out were one .ind the same person 
ia diiTereiit disguises. In his intercourse with Albert, and subse- 
quently with Alice, the character of Charles is ochnirably sustained. 
His first thoughts turn upon the beauty of his friend's sister, and he 
hesitates not to express them in that easy and familiar manner, of 
>vhicb he was, perhaps, after his restoration, a more perfect master, 
than immediately after his defeat at Worcester. He remains at 
Woodstock for some days, while Albert proceeds to the coast for 
the purpose of securing a vessel, in which Chai-Ies might effect his 
escape. The monarch having laid aside his red shock peruke, and 
with the assistance of Jocehiie having tmined his sable elf-locks 
into curls, he resumed for a season bis natural, animated, though 
not handtiome appearance. 

It may be imagined, that during the time tlie King remained 
unknown to Alice and Sir Henry, at Woodstock, he was liable to 
hear his own character frequently spoken of with just censure, or 
with affectionate enthusiasm, as the merits of the man or the suffer- 
ings of the Prince happened to be discussed in the smalt family- 
circle at the Lodge. There are really some excellent scenes of this 
description, tor which we must refer the reader to the work itsei£ 
As time made the presence of Alice more familiar to Charles, he 
bethought him of making a royal use of it, by endeavouring to per- 
suade her that she might safely entrust her maiden honour to his 
i and when all his arts of insinuation lail him, he tries the 



^U!«iidjr.i 



Woodstock i a TaU. 89 

efl^ wbidii a iSBBCotery of his rank would produce upcm h^v. The 
admirable girl resists all his approaches with the unaff^ted aikl 
dignified firmness of a virtuous mind, at the same time treats htm 
With the most affectionate respect as her sovereign, and preserves 
the secret of his real character fix>m her father, who was scarcely to 
be trusted with it, as hb ardent loyalty was apt to betray him into 
indiscretions. 

The gold ring which the gipsey threw into the pitcher had, ia 
the mean tioie^ found its way to Markham Everard, who, as he was 
not yet received by Sir Henry, notwithstanding the services he had 
rendered the Knight, remained in the neighbourhood of the Lodge, 
and constantly hovered about it, watching for the safety of Alice. 
Why Joliffe conveyed the ring to Everard does not very clearly 
appear, but it strongly awakened the lover's jealousy. Upon press* 
ing a spring contrived in the collet of the setting, the ruby flew back, 
and showed within it the cypher of Lord Wilmot, engraved in 
miniature with a coronet. This ring Lord Wilmot presented to 
Charley when quitting him at Worcester ; but Everard knowing 
nothing of this circumstance, naturally enough concludes that the 
joung stranger at the Lodge was no other than that dissolute noble* 
man. His suspicions were wound up to frenzy by a communica^* 
tioQ from Phcebe, who, with a laudable solicitude for the rights of 
true love, informed him that ^ a wasp was buzzing about his noney<» 
comb.' Everard, after some watching in the Park, encounters 
the supposed Lord Wilmot alone, and as his jealousy was at its 
top^ his sword was soon unsheathed. Charles drew in his own 
defenoe ; but the arrival of the Knight, one of those foitunate acci^ 
dents which a novelist has always at his command, put an end to 
the combat. Sir Henry not only compels them to put up their 
weapons, but to shake hands, and, in a fit of kindness, he invites 
Everard to the Lodge, to take a cup of sack with the stranger in 
token of reconciliation. The hours glide away pleasantly until the 
discourse turning upon plays, and, of course upon Shakspeare, 
Everard unluckily quotes some beautiful lines, which the old Knight 
greatly admires and praises. But afterwards learning that they 
mere written by Milton, the republican poet, ^ the creature and 
parasite oi that grand impostor Cromwell,' be does all but turn 
Everard out of the house, and passionately quits the room. Charles- 
enjoys this scene amazingly ; and his nonchalance at a moment that 
Evermrd's vexadon was again renewed, while his jealousy still rer 
mained unappeesed, absolutely determined him to demand a fresh 
combat on the following morning. He hastily left the Lodge, re-* 
turned to the town oS Woodstock, and lost no time in dispatching 
his secretary Wildrake to the stranger at the Lodge, with a formiu 
challenge, which of course was accepted. 

Thas we have al^o a duel in this nov^l, as well as in others of the 
WaverlqfHBchoQlf the preparations for whkh> tog^her wilYi t^^ satwp^' 
itod^ ixaaspyms^^eral pages of the third volume. The xessoNlSs^' 




50 Woodstock i a Tale. 

at tlie moment itie parties are on the ground, Alice, 
guidance of RochecHffe, interposes between them. .In the 
of her interference, she betrays more interest for the na 
Everard's antagonist than the lover felt to be justifiable, and 
proaches her with forgetting liis own long and sincere de' 
from a preference for a coronet. This imputation she indig 
disclaims, but at the same time drives him almost to madness, 
declaring that the life and safety of her father's guest ' are, or ougi 
to be, of more value to her than those of any other man in tbs 
kingdom, (commonwealth she should have said,) nay, in the worlds 
be that other man who he will.' This declaration, of course, put»i^' 
an end to all further proceedings of a hostile nature. Everard, " ■ 
wounded to the soul by this her open preference for his adversary, 
retracts the challenge, and bids Alice a last 'farewell!' Now ifj 
was the King's turn to act. Touched by the con^quences whidl j^ 
Alice's declaration brought upon herself and her lover, Charles r»-. ' 
moves all his misapprehensions, by confiding to Everard his rol ^ 
character, in the hearing of Wiidrake. The latter is intoxicated ^ 
with joy at once more seeing his beloved sovereign. Everard re- ^ 
ceives the communication in the manner that becomes a republican' q 
and a gentleman ; and though lie retains his principles, the scene hfl^!: 
too delightful an effect upon his feelings not to render him willifwr* 
to serve the King by every means in his power. ' Instant then to j^ 
the town, cousin Markhain,' said the affectionate Alice, ' and if '^ 
danger should approach, give us warning.' 

Danger was, in truth, near at hand. The hypocrite, Tomkin^ *" 
who served in various ways to amuse the Knight, and who affected ^ 
to give Rochecliffe intelligence of the movements of the troops at 
Woodstock, was, ever since the departure of the CommissIoaerSf ^- 
almost an inmate at the Lodge. He soon discovered who Louift ^ 
Kerneguy was, communicated his information to Cromwell, and 
made arrangements with him for the capture of Charles, which -t 
seemed to be perfectly well calculated for that purpose. j 

On a dark October night, Everard, besides his constant attend- 
ant Wiidrake, had the Rev. Nehemiuh Holdenough with him as* " 
guest at supper in the town of Woodstock. Tliey were waited upon 
by ' a little gipsey -loo king boy, in an orange-tawny doublet, much 
decayed, and guarded with blue worsted lace.' His nom-de-giierre "* 
is Spitfire, and, in short, he is one of that tribe of imps which the ^ 
author is prone to make use of on almost every occasion. While '■ 
the party was thus engaged, their attention was, about half-past ' 
ten, arrested by a knocking at the door of the house. The scene 
that Ibllows may be ranked, we thuik, among the best in the novel, ,. 
and perhaps among ihe best which the author ever wrote. We must ^( 
give it in his own words. 

' ' Even a thing so simple as a knock at the door, may have 
tet which excites apprehension. I'his was no ^uiet gentle tap, intij 
^■fa modest intruder ; no rcduublcil luttle, as the ^lamvoas annuncii 



■im4|V 



Woodstock: a TaU. 91 

wme nun person ; neither did it resemble the formal summons Iq 
busiiiess, nor the cheerful visit of some welcome friend. It was 
ttigJe blow, solemn and stern, if not actually menacing in the soupd. 
Ike door was opened by some of the persons of the house ; a heavy foot 
Meendedthe stair — a stout man entered the room, and drawing the cloak 
his face, said, ^^ Markham Everard, I greet thee in God s name." 
< It was General Cromwell. 

* Everard, surprised and taken at unawares, endeavoured in vain to 
Aid words to express his astonishment. A bustle occurred in receiving 
Ifce General, assisting him to uncloak himself, and offering in dumb 



the civilities of reception. The General cast his keen eye around 
Ik apartment, and fixing it first on the divine, addressed Everard as 
Uknrs: 

' **^ A reverend man I see is with thee. Thou art not one of those, 
good Markham, who let the time unnoted and unimproved pass aivay. — 
Gtttihg aside the things of this world -~ pressing forward to those of the 
lext — it \& by thus using our time in this poor seat of terrestrial sin and 
ore, that we may, as it were — — But how is this ?" — he continued, 
■ddenly changing his tone, and speaking briefly, sharply, and anxiously 
->^ One hath left the room since I entered !" ' 

' Wiidrake had, indeed, been absent for a minute or two, but was 
WW returned, and stepped forward from a bay window, as if he had 
ken out of sight only, not out of the apartment. *' Not so. Sir, I stood 
bat in the back-ground out of respect. Noble General, I hope all is 
veil with the Estate, that Your Excellency makes us so late a visit? — 
Would not Your Excellency choose some " 

* " Ah !** said Oliver, looking sternly and fixedly at him — " Our 
tnisty go-between -^ our faithful confidant — No, Sir ; at present I de- 
are nothing more than a kind reception, which, methinks, my friend 
Markham Everard is in no hurry to give me." 

* «* You bring your own welcome, my Lord," said Everard, compel- 
fiig himself to speak.— *^ I can only trust it was no bad news that made 
Your Excellency a late traveller, and ask, like my follower, what re- 
frednnent I shall command for your accommodation.'' — Vol. iii. 
pp. IGO— 162. 

Cromwelt then entered into a theological conversation with Hold- 
enough; iu the course of which an officer opened the door and 
looked hi, to whom Cromwell, in a rapid, earnest tone, called out, 

* Pearson, is he come ?' Cromwell was expecting Tomkiiis every 
instant, as the time appointed for his arrival had already passed by. 

* ** Noj Sir," replied Pearson ; " we have inquired for him at the place 
yim noted, and also at other haunts o^ his about the town." 

* •* The knave !" said Cromwell, with bitter emphasis ; " can he have 
proved false ? — No, no, his interest is too deeply engaged. We shall 
ind him by-and-by. — Hark thee hither.'* 

• ' While this conversation was going forward, the reader must imagine 
the alarm of Everard. He was certain that the personal attendance of 
Cromwell must be on some most important account^ and he could not 
bat strongly suspect that the General had some information respecting 
Charles's lurking place. If taken, a renewal of the tragedy of the 30tn 
of January was instantly to be apprehended, and the ruin o£ \.\ie v}Vvo\^ 
.fiBnUj of jLee> with himself probably fnciuded, must be t\ie i\eceW«t>j 
coasequencb* . ' •** 



dS iVoodslock : aTale. 

' Ha looked eagerly for con§i>lution at Wildrake, whose counte 
expressed much alarm, which h'e endeavoured to bear out with | 
il«uul look of confidence. But the weight within was too great; ' 
shuffled with his feel, rolled hie eyee, and twisted his hands, like a 
assured witness. 

* Oliver, meanwhile, left his company not a minute's leisure to talc* ■ 
counsel together. Even while his perplexed eloquence flawed on in t ■ 
stream so mazy that no one could discover which way its course vraa a 
tending, his sharp watchful eye rendered all attempts of Everard to hold — 
communication with Wildrake, even by signs, altogether vain. Everard, , 
indeed, looked for an instant at the window, then glanced at Wildrake, 
u if to hint there mi<;ht be a possibility of escape that way. Sut tha ' 
cavalier had replied with a disconsolate shake of the head, so slight as ' 
to be almost Imperceptible. Everard, therefore, lost all hope, and the ^ 
melancholy feeling ot approaching and inevitable evil was only variedl i' 
by anxiety concerning the shape and manner in which it was about t* i| 
make its apjiroach. ' _ 

' But Wildrake had a spark of hope leA. The very instant Cromir^ : ' 
entered he had got out of the room, and down to the door of the house> '^ 
" Back — back ! ' repeated by two armed sentinels, convinced him that, ^ 
as his fears had anticipated, the General had come neither unattended ' ' 
nor unprepared. He turned on bis heel, ran up stairs, and meeting en '' 
the landing place the boy whom he called Spitfire, hurried him into th^ -i 
small apartment which he occupied as his own. Wildrake had beed <[; 
shooting that morning, and game lay on the table. He pulled a fearher ^ 
from a partridge's [a woodcock's] wing, and saying hastily, " For thy Uf<^ _^ 
Spitfire, mind my orders ! — I will put thee safe out at the window iota 
the court — the yard wall is not high — and there will be no sent^ 
there — Fly to the Lodge, as thou wuuldst win Heaven, and give iho ^ 
feather to Mistress Alice Lee, if possible — if not to Joceline Joliife ~ « 
say 1 have won thewager of the young lady. Dost mark me, bo}'?" * 

' The sharp-witted youth clapped his band in his master's, and onlj s. 
replied, " Done, and done." ■,; 

' Wildrake opened the window, and though the height was consideii; f. 
able, he contrived to let the boy down safely by holding his cloak. A . 
heap of straw on which Spitfire lighted rendered the descent perfectly 
safe, and Wildrake saw him scramble over the wall of the court-yard, at « 
the angle which bore on a back lane ; and so rapidly was this accom- i* 
plished, that the cavalier had just re-entered the room, when, the bustle s 
attending Cromwell's arrival subsiding, his own absence began to be )| 
noticed. li 

' He remained during Cromwell's lecture on the vanity of creeds, :_ 
anxious in mind whether he might not have done better to send an ex- ^ 
pUcit verbal message, since there was no time to write. But the chancy .^ 
of the boy being stopped, or becoming confused with feeling himsajf i, 
the messenger of a hurried and important communication, made him, on ^ 
the whole, glad that he had preferred a more enigmatical way of convey- ^ 
log the intelligence. He had, therefore, the advantage of his patrcai, i^ 
for he was conscious still of a spark of hope.' — Vol. iii. pp. 166—169. ,, 

A long and diversified conversation occupies the party for some.' 

time ; iit the course of which we need only remark, that Wildrak*^ '< 

who made a Ihtle too free with the bottle, was incensed to such iMP 

[uctnTTie by CiomweU, that he altem^ited to assassinate him 0Qfl|| 



fVoodsiock; a Tale- 9$ 

ipot The royalist was committed to custody^ but could not fbr- 
lissr from triumphing over Cromwell, by indiscreetly announcing 
Aat ' the bird had flown.' This information, and the non-appear- 
ance of Tomkins long after his appointed time, induced Cromwell 
to determine at last on setting out for the Lodge. He commanded 
Ererard to attend him, ana was followed by a chosen band of 
n&ntry and cavalry. 

In the mean time Albert had rejoined the little party at the lodge^ 
nd brought intelligence to Charles that a vessel was prepared on 
the Sussex coast to take him to France. It was agreed that they 
sbonld take their departure early on the following morning. Th^ 
litde circle were engaged in whiling away the time after an early 
sopper, when ^ a most melancholy howling arose at the hall-door, 
and a dog was heard scratching for admittance.' This was BeviSf 
that noble bound, who, from the attention which the author pays 
bim on every occasion, and the generous qualities which he betrays^ 
moot &il to be a favourite with most reaiders. Bevis bore in his 
Mmth a military glove, which belonged to Tomkins, who, we may 
now uifbrm the reader, hath been already numbered with the slain. 
h an hour of intoxication he had followed the pretty Phosbe to 
Rosamond's Well in the early part of the evening and made a brutal 
attack on her person. Her screams brought Jolifte to her assist- 
ance, and, in the first impulse of his anger, he struck Tomkins wit^ 
a dnb on the temple, and that hollow wretch breathed no more. 
bk his haste, Joliffe left him loosely covered among some brambles 
in the Vark, and now, accompanied by Dr. RocheclifFe, he went 
OBt with mattock and spade, and a dark lantern, to bury the dedd. 

The circle in the parlour were, however, as yet ignorant of the 
firte of Tomkins, which had so materially retarded the approach of 
Cromwell, and were about to separate for the night, when a tap 
was heard at the hall-door. Albert, ^ the vidette of the party,' 
Wened to the portal, and asked who was there at so late an houiw 

• " It is only me," answered a treble voice. 

• ** And what is your name, my little fellow?" said Albert. 
« <« Spitfire, Sir, replied the voice without. 
< « Spitfire !" said Albert. 

* ** xeSj Sir," replied the voice ; ^* all the world calls me so, and Colo- 
nd Everard himself. But my name is Spittal for all that." 

< « Colonel Everard ! arrive you from him ?" demanded young Lee. 

* « No, Sir ; I come, Sir, from Roger Wildrake, Esquire, of Squatde- 
lei-mere, if it like you," said the boy ; " and I have brought a token to 
Miatress Lee, which I am to give into her own hands, if you would but 
open the door. Sir, and let me in — but I can do nothing with a three- 
bdi board between us." 

< << It is some fi^ak of that drunken rakehell," said Albert, in a low 
Toice, to his sister, who had crept out after him on tiptoe. 

« K Yet, let us not be hasty in concluding so," said the young lady ; 
* tl this nnoment the least tnfle may be of consequence. — ¥niattok0t!|i 
hm Matter Wildrake sent me, my httle boy ?" . . \ ,^ 



^ \~"' ■ t < 



mmi IVoaJstvcl: i a Title. 

C)ir* " Nay, notliiog very raluuble neither," replied the boy ; " but h* 
bras so anxious you should get it, that he put nie out of window ait oh 
Eirould chuck out a kitten, that I might not be stopped by the soldien." 
R| ' " Hear you ?" said Alice la her brother ; " undo the gate for God'l 
itake." 

W ' Her brother, to whom herfeelings of suspicion were now suRicieatly 
ptommunicated, opened the gate in huste, and admitted the boy, whow 
Hppearance, not much dissiiuiJar to that of a skinned rabbit in a livery, 
Mv a monkey at a fair, would at another time have furnished them vitlt 
■pnusement. The urcliin meesenger entered the hall, making seveni 
Mdd bows Bud conges, and delivered the woodcock's feather with inirili 
Keeremony to the young lady, assuring her it was the prize she had wdD 
^upoQ a wager abopt hawking. 

W '"I prithee, my little man," said Albert, " was year master drunk ot 
Eiiiiber, when he sent thee all this way with a feather at this time oi 

^ghtr 

•» ' " With reverence, Sir," said the boy, " he was what he calls soberj 
mtad what I would call concerned in liquor for any other person." 
ft* ' " Curae on the drunken coxcomb!" said Albert. — " There U-t 
fcCeeter for thee, boy, and tell thy master to break his jests on suitaUl 
LserKons, and at fitting times." 

L| , " Stay yet a minute," exclaimed Alice ; " we must not go too fast *- 
Etfai's craves wary walking." 

■/ ' " A feather !" said Albert ; " all this work about a feather ! Why, 
iTftr. Rochechffe, who can suck intelligence as a magpie would suck iu 
PSgg, could make nothing of this." 

h-' ' " Let us try what we can do without him then," said Alice. Ttei 
laddressing herself to the boy, — "So there are strangers at yom 
master's ?" 

' " At Colonel Everard'e, madam, which is the same thing," sail 
uSpitfire. 
L_ ' " And what manner of strangers?" said Alice; " guests 1 sup 

I ' » Ay, mistress," said the boy, " a sort of guests that make them 

P wives welcome wherever they come, if they meet not a welcome frOii 

I' their landlord — soldiers, madam." 

I ' ' " The men that have been long lying at Woodstock ?" said Alben 

l*> ' " No, Sir," said Spitfire, " new comers, with gallant buff-coats aiu 

I «teel breast-plates ; and their commander — Your Honour and Her Ladj 

bldiip never saw such a man — at least I am sure Bill Spitfire never didJ 

IL;. ' " Was he tall or short ?'' said Albert, now much alarmed. 

P^ ' " Neither one nor other," said the boy; " stout made, with slouch 

tmjpg shoulders ; a nose large, and a face one would not like to say Note 

Kjte had several officers with him. I saw him but for a moment, but 

Fihall never forget him whiie I live." 

I*'' '" You are right," said Lee to his sister, pulling her to one sid< 

fc *' quite right — the Arch-fiend himself is upon us !" 

IL' ' •' And the feather," said Alice, whom fear had rendered apprehen 

iHUve of slight tokens, " means flight — and a woodcock is a bird of pai 

■wage." 

E|m . ' " You have hit it," said her brother ; " but (he time has taken u 

tfrueUr short. Give the boy a trifie more — nothing that can excit 

ly^pfip/p/y and dismiss him. I inaBt summon Ro<Avec\\fie «r& Soq^jwn 



Woodstock; a Tale. 98 

'He went aceordtugly, but, unable to find those he Botighti be returned 
vith hasty steps to the parlour, where, in his character of Louis, the 
page was exerting himself to detain the old knight, who, while laughing 
It the tales he told him, was anxious to go to see what was passing in 
the hall.' — Vol. iii. pp. 209—214. 

Arrangements were speedily made for the flight of the King in 
the dress of Albert, while the latter should remain to personate 
Charles, and by detaining the pursuers amid the labyrinth of the 
bower, give ample time to the fugitive to insure his safety. The 
' Knight was at length informed of the true character of his guest, 
which he had not hitherto, in the smallest degree, suspected. Sir 
Henry, upon this emergency, displayed the greatest coolness and 
intelligence. The horses prepared for the King were in a stable 
near the under-keeper's cottage, to which Charles, in the dark night, 
was unlikely, if unattended, to find his way. Pboelie was in hysterics 
since the occurrence near the well. It was of the first importance 
that Albert and the Knight should remain at the lodge ; and 
ftocheclifie and Joliffe were employed in digging a grave for Tom* 
kins in the forest. There was nobody to show the way to the dis- 
tant stable but Alice. She readily performed this service tor her sove- 
reign, who had already seen too much of her character to entertain 
any other feelings towards her than those of gratitude and resp^t. 
Alice is thus adroitly saved from the ferocious scene which was 
about to take place at the Lodge, while she has the honour and the 
happiness to contribute to the escape of Charles, which is effected 
chiefly through her means. 

The tale then hastens to a conclusion. Cromwell, with his fol- 
lowers, enters the lodge, ransacks the labyrinth, a plan of which he 
had obtained from Tomkins, and pursues the supposed Charles 
until he flies to his last citadel, Rosamond's Tower. This is blown 
op; and after a scene of great bustle, highly dramatic in. its e^ect, 
Albert escapes destruction, but is made prisoner. The lodge is 
left a heap of ruins. . The whole party, however, ultimately are 
qmred, in one of those fits of humanity which the author finds it 
conyenient to ascribe occasionally to Cromwell ; and they live to 
witness the restoration of Charles IL, to his and their heartfelt 
satisikction. At the time of this event, Alice is the wife of Everard, 
and the comely matron of several children. Phoebe and Joliffe are 
also usefully employed in a similar manner in adding to the number 
of His Majesty's subjects ; and the Knight, after witnessing the long- 
desired return of the King, whom he almost worshipped, departs 
from this life in a good old age. 

We have gone beyond our usual limits in introducing this novel 
to the acquaintance of our readers. ' They, perhaps, will only com- 
plain that we have not devoted still more space to a work which few 
of thtin will have had an opportunity of reiading before lYvis JowttvA 
reaches their hapds. We must, however, be. brief \u tVve Tetti^ttYs 
wbhb we have still td make. In the first place, cons\det\tv^' w^ 



Fodere (m the Poverty i^ Natiotts. 

Wide field which the wanderings and perils of Charles before his 
final escape from Sliorehain presented to the novelist, we think 
lliat he has made but an inconsiderable use of it. He mi^rht have 
introduced several scenes capable of being wrought up to the high- 
est degree of interest, in which the flight of the King should be 
exposed more than once to the most imminent danger of interrup- 
lifin. We would have willingly exchanged the greater portion of 
the 6rst volume for some such hair-breadth escapes, particularly at 
they would have been perfectly consistent with history, and, indeed, 
might have assumed the appearance of filling up the general 
outline it presents us of the dangei's to which the fugitive wa< 
exposed for forty-one days. We think, also, that however useful it 
may have been in allowing the author to complete the happiness of 
the Lee family, the introduction of the Hestoration disturbs the 
unity of the tale. It is quite a new scene, hastily got up, and re- 
quires the imagination to pass in an instant from the year 1651 to 
] 660. It does not harmonise with the train of feeling which had 
been awakened by the previous current of the tale. The beauty and 
airy grace of Alice are, in a great measure, disenchanted of their 
effect, by the new situation in winch we find her at the close of the 
volume, surrounded by chubby urchins, and herself no longer that 
fair vision whom we met in the early part of the work, and followed 
with GO much interest, until she disappeared from the Lod^e, tlie pro- 
tects- and guide of her sovereign. The character of Hochecli^ 
reminded us more than once of the stone of Sisyphus. The authot 
labours hard to render him a prominent and interesting person ia 
the scene, but all his exertions are in vain. There is nothing about 
him that touches our feelings : we hear and see him, and the next 
moment forget his existence, as if he had never been. When we 
arrive at the end of the volume, we are in doubt even how he spells 
his name. Neveilheless the extracts and the outline of the work 
which we have given, prove that it is the creation of no ordinary mind. 
If it be inferior in every respect to " Waverley," yet it is such a tal( 
as no one but the author of that splendid fiction could have written. 
In the preface the author states that he had not read " Bramblety« 
House" before he finished his task, being desirous that if there were 
any coincidences between two novels treating of the same period 
he should not be suspected of any intentional imitation. We hardly 
think that he need have made this disclaimer \ for there is a palpable 
difference between the sterling gold of genius and the composition- 
metal of such a writer as one of the authors of " The Rejected Ad- 



Abt. IX. Essai Hhtorigue et Marat sur la Pauvrele des Nations. PW 
F.E.Fod^r^. 8vo. Paris. 1625. Treuttel, Wurtz, and Co. London^ 
AMisisa trying time to the true believers in poGtwaV enouova-j . Thfljt^ 
^^Xeed is passing through a severe ordea\, 'N\i\cV iocs •Rot ^«aijfl9 



BMrS on the Paotrty tf Nations. 97 

alllikeTy to be very speedily ended. For many years It had been 
making its way gradually, and not silently, among classes of persons in 
this country, most of whom were rather removed irom public afiairs, 
who. made up by the zeal and constancy with which they urged 
their doctrines for the want of power to enforce them in practice. 
It was their lot, like all professors of a new faith, to be continually 
harassed by controversy ; but the attacks upon their system were 
for the most part so desultory, and their adversaries acted with so 
litde concert, that although not very well united among themselves, 
thqr have uniformly, and of late very rapidly, gained ground upon 
their opponents. The time has however come, when they have to 
sustain a conflict far dLSerent, both in the kind and the degree of 
its dangers. They are no longer opposed by mere reasoners, who 
confine themselves to a war of words and argume:]ts, content with 
knocking down some *' stubborn facts,^ or wrestling against the 
logic of the new school. Its proselytes have at length appeared in 
places so high, and with attitudes so resolute, as to attract, among 
us, the gaze of the whole nation ; and the attempt to introduce its 
maxims into the government of the state has united in angry and 
rather formidable resistance, all the habitual haters of innovation, 
and all those partial interests which must in some degree suffer 
from any change, even from the worst to tlie best, in the policy of 
a commercial country. 

Something of this might have been expected, even if the clearest 
and soundest principles of political science had been unfolded in 
die most fiuniliar and intelligible language, and with the meekest 
possible temper. But we cannot help thinking, tliat much of the 
opposition which is now made to the best established doctrines^ 
concerning the sources of national wealth and the means of pro- 
moting it, is owing to the tone and the manner in which these doc- 
trines nave been of late years expounded. Nothing can be more 
iajuriaus to the interests of science than an exaggerated estimate, 
bjr its advocates, of the evidence on which it rests. There is .a 
strong disposition in that perverse animal, man, to withhold even a 
reasonable portion of assent, when too much is demanded. Poli- 
tical economy is a science which requires more than almost any other 
that its calculations shall be corrected by experience. It is built 
vapon inductions of facts, of a nature by no means easy to be ascer- 
tained, because they are always found in combination, and their 
effects are perpetually changing according as they are variously 
combined. Perhaps no facts relating to the transactions among 
mfliilrind were ever more minutely and extensively investigated th^n 
Aose which regulate the value of money. It may be safely said, 
that the subject was exhausted by the labours of the Bullion Com- 
nuttee. Yet few investigations ever led to more numerous and 
bewildering contradictions ; and^Parliament at length ^xouQvnvo^ 
an 49pinion vtpon the value of a bank-note, whic\i is prob«\AN i^ 
nam edtettained tgr balf^thdozen sane persons in tbe nation. ^^ffVMNL . 

VOL. II, H vv. > 



#8 FodirS on tkt Pmerly qf Nations. 

a science, which depends on facts capable of being viewed in M 
various lights, is held fortli as resting upon proofs nearly approot 
ing to demonstration, they who have not exaniine<l all its IbiiB 
Stions ore apt to include, in one general estimate of weaknesj), tbc 
portions wliich possess but doubtful sireugth) with others, wba 
Stability has been attested by the clearest evidence and the fttlfa 
experience. 

It must be owned, likewise) tlmt writers on political econoi 
have not always preserved the tone and tiie temper best suited 
Boflen hostility or win acquiescence. On tlie contrary, like nu 
other advocates for absolute treedoni, they have sometimes adopt 
it style as contemptuous and intolerant towards their opponents 
if the subjects of discussion were too clear for doubt, and as 11 
were little «hort of wickedness to dissent from their conclusiomtn 
some of tlie disputes which are now carried on ooncemi^^j 
knotty points in the science, they find, tlmt lUthnugh men ^H^| 
tnit to be reasoned out of their errors, they will neither be B^| 
nor sneered into a surrender of the most pal|>abte absurdities.^ 

But perhaps no cause has tended so much to deprive the sciei 
of political economy of its due honours, among certain classes 
very well-meaning persons, as the charge which has been ml 
iipon its votaries, and believed by many to be true, that they s« 
to exalt their favourite dogmas, to tlie exclusion of all other a 
siderations in state-government. This imputation is most cert^ 
unfounded, though it must be acknowledged that some colour 
given to it by the omission of most writers on these subjects, to ( 
Bne the limits of the science, and to cjualify the propositions in wbi 
Uiey unfold it. They are too prone to assume, as a matter 
course, that their readers will consider their doctrines only w 
reference to die production, distribution, and consumption of weal 
and not as excluding other maxims of policy essential to the w 
fere and security of nations. But it unfortunately happens vi 
generally, that the terms in which the doctrines of political eccmoi 
are stated convey an impression that the writer deems wealth i 
only source of human felicity, and holds it as an nnimpeacba 
postulate, that all other veinn of policy and government ought 
be subservient to the increase, in the aggregate, of a natio 
riches. 

Tu prove that the teachers of political economy are very absi 
in propounding this notion of its exclusive importance (which I 
among them, if any, entertain,) seems to be the chief design of 
Fodi'r^'s work on the' Poverty of Nations.' "Whatever may 
thought of the usefulness of a work, confined to the execution 
such a design, it might be so performed as at least to have 1 
merit of being harmless. Unluckily, however, M. Foderi^, in 
progress towards proving that tlie wealth or poverty of a nati 
does not depend upon the a^regate of its riches, has contrived 
stumble successively against some of tlie fundamental truths^- s 



J 



Fodiri on the Paoerty ofStOkm. 99 

nanjr of the best established conclusiohs of the science with which 

\t qiiari*els^ and to entangle himself in discussions upon other 

Mrts of it, in which the wisest have paused. The range which he 

m taken is indeed extensive. Agriculture, manu&ctures, foreign 

wA. home trade, i — population, pauperism and mendicity, hospitfuis^ 

--education and taxation^ — primogeniture, apprenticeships, and 

cmporattons, — - all are discussed in this ambitious volume, not 

' iMrely in dieir principles, but with historical details, and sketched 

rf publie establishments foi^ carrying into practical operation the 

news of the author. 

M. Fod€r£ has, we believe, more than once gained reputation* as 
• writer, on subjects relating to agriculture, and to die profession 
dT which he is a member. The work now before us contains many 
proo& of A benevolent temper and a cultivated mind. On the 
regalation of hospitals, and on some subjects which he treats of in 
his book, connected with the public health, his statements will be 
read with some interest. His opinions on these points are certainly 
I entitled to much respect, for he seems to have had considerable 
eq)erience, and the facts which he details show that he has had 
opportunities of extensive observation. But we musj; except i^ainst 
^e whimsical claim which he makes in his (want-propos^ in ravour 
of the medical profession, and in disparagement of lawyers and 
statesmen. He considers, that of these mree classes (to which, 
finr some reason or other, he thinks speculations on political eco* 
Bomy peculiarly appertain,) the former are in an especial manner 
$woili;^,by Providence with the me^ns of knowing what sort of 
instituticMis are best calculated to make a nation rich and happy. 
We are sorry to be obliged to tlunk, that M. Fod^re has him- 
self gitai singular proo& of the error of this new and curious 
theory* 

M* Fodeare has distributed the multifarious topics of which he 
treats among four settions. The first and most important ia 
devoted to Pauperism, its causes, its effects, and its remedies ; the 
seeoed to Mendicity, as distinguished from Pauperism ; the third 
to Qo^tcds, and other establishments for the poor ; and the fourth 
to lUl^tini&cy and institutions for Foundlings. The subordinate 
arrangements of the work are made with great perspicuity ; and 
although all the parts of M. Fod^r^'s system are not quke consist- 
ent^ there ili» throughout^ no difficulty whatever of understanding 
irfiat it means. 

The grand principle which forms the basis of the whole struc- 
tupre^ 1% that a nation is rich, not in proportion to the total amount 
of ita possessions, but in proportion as its wealth is so distributed 
as to ptoduce. the greatest degree of comfort among the whole of 
its inhabitants* Of this princi^e be gives many illustrations ; one, 
hpw^ciry iiriU y^ quite ^9uffident fc^ ft render at this* side of the 
^igl^ Channel: 

H 2 



i 



1 00 Fodire on the Povfitif q/' Nations. 

' Poor alBo 18 Great Britain (ai least not so happy as her aJmirera 
deem her), of whose sixteen millions of subjects, eleven or twelve 
(niUions have no property whatever, subsisting upon their wages alone, 
but enabling, from (lay to ilay, soine great and lurtunate speculators to 
ruin all small traders, to purchase up estates, to change corn-fields into 
parks, and the labourers of the country into nianufacturing workmen ; 
B systeiu of activity go tittle advantageous to the nation at large that, in 
order to maintain an equilihrium in the means of subiiistence for the 
population, it has been found necessary to resort to tlie forced measure 
of a tax for the cuppcrt of the poor; ■ tax which is every year 
increasing,' — pp. S*, 55. 

To quarrel with the franier of a sysEem or a theory about the 
words which he employs, is sometimes not quite fair, and is very 
commonly a waste of language. But we may surely say, without 
risking the imputation of iubstituting cavil for criticism, that to call 
England a poo.- country, because she possesses enormous wealth in 
company rith much pauperism, is something too like a solecism to 
deserve a place in thti very front of a new system of political eco- 
nomy. The r"eaning, however, of M. Fodi?re is sufficiently clear; 
he thinks tk&t it is a bad condition of society, in which wealth is so 
distribute! that there arc many paupers.' 

It follour:, as a corollary from this position, that the policy of a 
slate should alwayc be to ir.cri^ase the number of moderate foitunes. 
All those injtit^tio;-iE or practices in society which tend to impede 
that policy oiiyht, therefo.-e, to be strenuously resisted, and if pos- 
sible abolished ; ar.d a great part of the first section of the work 
is occupied in iliowing how legislatures and statesmen ought to 
deal with iho^e stubborn obstacles to a nation's happiness. M. 
Foddri seems to think that these obstacles chiefly arise — from ■ 
the state of the populatioR, as it is either defective or redundant iit 
proportion to :he extent or resources of a state ; — from impolitic 
laws respecting the descent of property ; — from an improper dis- 
tribution of the industry of the country, and in particular, the 
affording of encouragement to manufactures, and the withholding 
of it from agriculture ; — the want of corporation and apprentice 
laws, which he thinks absolutely necessary to prevent too great 
freedom in the exercise of trades and ruinous competition among 
the tradesmen ; — from the disposition to engage in distant specu^ 
lations of foreign commerce, to the neglect and decay of the home- 
trade within the country itself; — and from the employment of 
machinery {deforces mortes) instead of the labour of men and of 
cattle. 

Were we to set ourselves seriously to work in an attempt to 
refute the speculations of M. Fodere, we should never think of 
attacking his system in detail. Each particular bar to what he 
conceives the due distribution of wealth is only a particular illus- 
tration of that general law of Providence, which has decreed 
inequality of possessions to be the lot of all human societies. 



Toditi on the Pbvfr^ of Nations. 101 

Wbetlier or not it would be desiral3e.-tliat^ things were otherwise, 
it is vain to argue. Undoubtedly it wovIdVhe well for the world 
if there were no poor; and it is quite inconC^stfible, thitt if wealth 
could increase as it is found to do, without bbeoi)[iing^ accumulated 
m masses, and ii^ under such circumstances, popurafioh increased 
no &ster liian it does now in England or in Fri(c^^']pauperism 
would be greatly diminished, or perhaps might wholly V^^# But 
the plain and pervading error of M. Fod^r^, and of a little <l5ai;id of 
philanthropists in this country, who would fain carry similar' vjews^ 
to an extent of wild absurdity which he never dreamt o^ is, 'that * , 
the same institutions which would prevent the accumulation of*' 
wealth in single hands, would, as far forth as they could operate,, 
prevent its accumulation at all. M. Fod^r<^ has himself admitted, 
that strong motives are necessary to overcome the innate indolence 
of man, and induce him to labour. Sense of duty, generosity, phi- 
landiropy, supply no such motive. Laws are equally powerless ta 
call forth those exertions which make a community rich. The 
slave has ever been an unprofitable labourer. It is only in that 
sordid feeling against which M. Fod^r^ has wasted so much invec- 
tive, the aurz sacra fames^ that we are to find the springs of national 
opulence. The desire of gain is the only motive that ever did or 
ever will lead mankind along the toilsome and thorny paths which 
lead to riches. But the desire of gain can only operate where there 
is a prospect and an expectation of enjoyment ; and it needs no refer- 
ence to history to prove, what history, however, demonstrates in every 
pa^ that in proportion as the free enjoyment of wealth is abridged, 
the energies are slackened which are required for its production. 

Whatever, therefore, be the condition of the population in a 
country where wealth is increasing, according to its natural course, 
in the hands of individuals, that condition must grow worse if mea- 
sures be employed to force the currents of wealth fi*om the larger 
and fewer channels, into others, smaller, but more numerous. 
Tlie great streams may subside or grow dry ; but the smaller will 
not be filled by their exhaustion. For it is quite obvious that 
what checks enterprize in any one direction, by means of laws or 
institutions which extend generally over the whole community, 
cannot encourage industry in other quarters. It should never be 
forgotten, (although it seems never to have occurred to M. Fod(^r^,) 
that the mass of the people, unless, indeed, there be a community 
of goods, must always be labourers for hire, and consequently must 
be comfortable or wretched according as the whole capital of the 
country, which can alone give them employment, is great or small, 
in proportion to their numbers. And it is surely a strange phi- 
lanthropy, which seeks to better the condition of the poor by means 
that must diminish the general wealth on which they depend for 
subsistence. 

M. Fod^rd passes lightly over the subject of population, and 
the efiect of increasiiT^ numhers in producing mu\l\V\xAa^ o^ \\wst% 

H 3 



^p9. FoderS on the'Ihrxrtjf of Nations. 

His notions upon this subje'dt ^o not appear to be very satisfactory 
to himself, though he joclln&iito the opinion that, at least in France 
there is no redundfuft;^iif population. We cannot help regretting 
that his reflectiorjs'-JiJ" not dwell somewhat longer on this part of 
his enquirj'. . It Onght indeed to iiave formed the key-stone to the 
whole. Until'tiome means can be devised to prevent the increase 
of unemgfeysd'poor, all such measures as may be even successfiilly 
applletl 10- secure a more equal distribution of wealth, can be only 
paltiatjyes of a great and growing plague. If every pauper m 
^^ftce were put into a state of comfort, or even of opulence, by 
■ .^obtaining a share of the possessions of his richer neighbours, (and 
M. Fodft:^ is far from advising a measure so extreme,) another 
generation must produce another brood of claimants, differing from 
their progenitors only in being more numerous and more urgent. 
Nothing indeed sei-ves so mucli to bewilder the philanthropist in 
his most favourite and alluring schemes, as the influence of increas- 
ing numbers, in situations and under circumstances apparently the 
best calculated to secure comfort and employment for the lower 
orders of the people. M. Foder^, after noticing the growth of 
pauperism in Switzerland, very frankly, and somewhat feelingly, 
owns his inability to account for it. 

' It will b^ said that tbia pauperism, which 1 find to exist no less on 
the other bank of the Hhine on the side of Freiicc, with an equal 
abundance of manufactures, (as if to show tliat a diU'erence in the forms 
of governments avails but little to the real happiness of iiations,) it will 
be said that this pauperism is the result of an excess in the population. 
But Switzerland was probably more populous when she inundated 
Europe with her soldiers. Neither can !t be ascribed to the scarcity 
or the dearoess of the necessaries of life ; for articles of prime necessity 
were never so abundant or cheap as they have (been for some years 
on both banks of the Kbine. And as to agriculture and the arts of 
industry, these are not wanting, and yet the people are wretched ! A/y 
mind, I own it, is tortured in the attempt to reconcile these incon- 
sistencies, although I bave seen much, and enquired incessantly. I 
find myself, with respect to those writers on political economy who 
present us with every thing as plain and easy, who swallow down all 
that does not make for their opinions, as I was in my youth with respect 
to systems of medicine, which so often deceived me when I sought to 
apply them at the sick bed.' — pp. 98, 99. 

It is a difficulty which has puzzled many a philanthropist as 
zealous as M. Fod^r^, and which we fear is not destined to be 
solved in our generation. Our author, however, thinks he has 
discovered the means of removing pauperism, at least from France, 
and we shall endeavour to give a brief outline of his views. 

After an eulogium on the institution of celibacy among the 

clergy, and some remarks on the influence of the drait d'dinesse in 

enhancing the evils of pauperism, by giving the force and sanction 

of the hw to the inequality of property, he proceeds to show the 

importance of a weU-i-^ulatei] system of genetoV ed.uca^u>n. Ci\v 



Fadite on tk^ Pooeity (^ Nations.. lOS 

tbijs sut^QCt his views are jost, liberal, and eoligfateaed; and he is 
the onore ^eservkig of praise for the frankoess with which he has 
9vo^ed hiis opiBiOBs, because we fear they are not calculated to be 
very pdateMe to certain dasses of his compatriots, with whom it 
behoves public teachers in France at the present day to be, at least, 
upon easy terms. We wish, indeed, we could be sure that even 
among ourselves there may not be some who deem such notions 
oot quite safe, inasmuch as they do not appear to have occurred 
to the founders of the British constitution. But for the sake of 
such of our readers as think knowledge no dangerous innovation, 
fi)rbiddea by the wisdom of our ancestors, we shall give M. Fod^r^'s 
opinions in his own words, which comprise, indeed, in substance, 
all that cam wi^ be urged upon the question, whether ignorance 
among the people be advantageous to their rulers. 

' I have already said, that it is not the instruction of a little fraction 
of the people tlhat can secure the public weal, but education generally 
difiused, and brought home to every class in society. In vain do you 
pride yourselves on your institutes, your acadiemies, your learned 
societies spread through all the departments ; your reports, your dis* 
courses, your pompous pao^gyric^ are yours only ; the people read 
neither your hooks nor your journals; you forni but an aristocracy o£ 
learned persons who work not Jbr them, and we are yet as in the age 
ofMolierey when thev spoke Latin in the academies of the capital, while 
in the country and m the small towns the people knew npt.how to sisn 
their names. I wish to show that ignorance is calamitous alike to the 
people, and to those who govern them ; and that a system of education, 
sucn as I contemplate, is the first principle of national wealth, of the 
power of the prince, and of the security of the whole nation.' •» 

' As to the security of the prince, and of governments in general, the 
history of all times furnishes us with whole volumes to prove that this 
security depei^ in no sort upon the lights which may be spread among 
a small frac(tion oi their subjects, — a faction oflen restless, ambitious, 
and turbulent|-i-but upon this, that all the middle and lower classes 
have received some education, and the first elements of general know- 
ledge. It cannot be denied me that a people ignorant and degraded 
will remain indifferent to every change of masters ; will follow the 
impulse of habit and prejudice; and that with them any effort at 
amendment must fail; that, on the contrary, an enlightened people, 
who have not been thus debased, will cherish their prince and their 
country, — two names united together in their affections, and the honour 
and independence of which they are ever ready to maintain ; that with 
suph a people, in short, no advancement in agriculture or the arts is 
impossible. J grant that such a people w^l be more difficult to lead by 
means of deceit, by measures of mere routine; but let sound principles 
prevail in their government; let justice be dealt towards them, they 
will feel and be grateful, and will be a rampart against the factious. 
But so long as you leave them in rudeness and ignorance, you have 
still, it ifi true, the pleasure of deceiving them ; but at the least false 
lights held outto them by your enemies, you will see youxbe^t c^xa&wVa^ 
foTtfess^s tumtf/ng fo tbe ground.* — ^^jf^. iS4f — 1S7. 

H 4f 






1 0+ Fodire on tlu- Poverty of Nations. 

ITie scheme, however, upon which M. Fod^r^ chiefly relies 
removing and preventing pauperism consists of a set of measui 
which he details very minutely, and the direct object of which 
to encourage agriculture, and to check commerce and manufactui 
where he supposes them likely to interlere with the cultivation of 
the soil. NIost of his speculations on this part of his subject are 
applied specially to France; but whether right or wrong, lliey 
are (and indeed so their author considers them) of universal 
application. 

After stating some very unquestionable truths on the policy of 
maintaining in each nation a direction to industry, corresponding 
to the local circumstances of the country, (a direction which, it 
may be observed in passing, the industry of every nation will take 
spontaneously, without imposing en legislatures the trouble of 
making laws,) he gives a brief sketch of the progress of agriculture 
in Europe, and more particularly in France; and concludes that 
means ought to be taken, without delay, to force induilry, in the 
latter country, away from commerce and manutiictures, to agri- 
culture. He contrasts the situation of France with that of England ; 
the latter, from its insular position and its extensive and numerous 
colonies, having abundant markets for her produce; the former 
being almost destitute of colonies, being moreover capable of pro- 
ducing few commodities different from those of her neighbours, 
and having consec|uently but few articles fit for commercial ex- 
change. He endeavours to show, that although agriculture has 
made great progress in France during late years, much still is 
needed in the way of improvement ; and he concludes, that as 
there are large tracts of land uncultivated which might be re- 
claimed, and as there has been a great increase in the population 
of the towns, and a corresponding increase in their poor, true policy 
requires that this crowded population should be diverted from the 
towns, where they flock for employment in works of manufacture, 
and be employed in the cultivation of the soil. Manufactures he 
considers injurious, when carried on to the extent to which they 
are now proceeding in France, because, among other reasons, they 
collect large numbers together engaged in unwholesome employ- 
ments; because the workmen attached to them are liable to be 
thrown suddenly into idleness and poverty by the failure of their 
masters ; because they accumulate targe fortunes in tlie hands of 
individuals, thus occasioning, by the successful speculations of 
wealthy capitalists, the ruin of their neighbours, whose products 
they are of;en enabled to drive out of the market by tlie low price 
at whicli the improvements daily made in machinery allow them 
to vend their own; and a great deal of argument is employed to 
prove, that machinery is little short of a curse to a densely-peopled 
nation. To the usual topics urged on this subject, namely, that 
the use of machinery augments the number of unemployed poor, 
and tends to produce a glut of commodities, M. Foderc adds, 
"7 ■ 



Foderi on the P&oerty of Naitcns. 105 

Alt by nniltiplyiiig those pests of society which continually babnt 
liis imagination,— large individual fortunes, — it tends to create the 
worst species of aristocracy, an insolent oligarchy of commercial 
c^italists. 

To give a direction to industry corresponding to these views, 
M. ¥od€t€ proposes the establishment of two boards or councils 
(conseils\ to be attached to each prefecture in the kingdom, one to 
superintend agriadture and rural econcmy^ and the other to preside 
over commerce and the arts of industry. These councils, especially 
the latter, be would invest with very extensive powers. The board 
of agriadture should bave, in efiect, the instruction and guidance 
of £e whole rural community in the art of cultivating and im- 
proving the soil, and, moreover, should be employed to draw up 
rules or laws, for the regulation of the agricultural population ; 
and many of our author's suggestions on these subjects, which we 
have not space to notice, appear to us to be extremely just, and 
equally applicable to all agricultural countries. But M. Fod^r^'s 
views are not confined to the mere improvement of the art of 
agriculture ; and the combined operation of his two councils would 
bdeed work a mighty change in the condition of the society on 
which (were the thing practicable) their labours might chance 
to be bestowed* The following are some of the objects designed 
by their institution. 

All productions of foreign nations which might interfere with 
those of the French soil should be prohibited ; and how sweeping 
that prohibition should be, our author takes care to apprise us 
(p. 170.), when he includes among the products which ought to be 
encouraged in France, beet^ from which sugar might be extracted^ in 
order to save the expence of importing it from America ; potatoes^ 
from which might be manufactured alcohol for the people of the 
North : plants^ from which stuff might be produced ^or tanning and 
fying; to which M. Fod^r^ adds an et cetera of portentous mean- 
ing. The design, of course, would be to raise, at whatever ruinous 
cost, all that human labour could extract from the soil at home,^/or 
the single purpose of increasing the number qfpersotis employed in its 
cultivation* 

Every new invention in machinery should be strictly examined, 
with a view to two distinct objects ; first, to the number of persons 
seeking employment it might exclude from the manufacture in 
which it might tend to abridge human labour; and, secondly, to 
the price and abundance of those commodities which it might have 
a tendency to cheapen. By a reference to these considerations the 
new machine ought to be admitted or prohibited. 

The introduction, from other countries, of such machinery as 
may be already in use, or hereafter allowed, should be strictly pro- 
hibited for two reasons; first, their manufacture ought to be 
encouraged >at home-; secondly, it would be desirable to render 
diem more scarce and dear* 



WtW Fodir^ OH the Poverly of' Nations. 

But the project which must Bound the Gtran^st to En^sh fl 
is that of re-estahlishing those laws givhig exuusive privilegfli 
incorporated trades, and requiring apprenticeships as condttioot' 
entering those trades, wliich were abolished in France Mr 
Revotutiou, aiid the vexation, oppression, absurdity, and itnpil 
of which are now almost universally acknowledged. M. Foa 
advocate as he is for increasing the comforts of the rural populal 
and for augmenting their numbers, does not hesitate to avow tt 
he proposes the restoration of this exploded system, in order 6 
make the profits of the artizans greater and more equal, by Umithtff 
cumpetition. In other words, he would give to the incorporate ' 
tradesmen and manufactureis of the towns a monopoly, extending | 
over town and country, enhancing the price of many of tbQ 
necessaries, and all the comforts, of Life to the whole population ! ■* 
This is, we think, a faithful sketch of M. Foder^'ii chief schetns- 
for the amelioration of civil societies, and in a more ^pedaL'j 
manner for improving the condition of his belle France. We d**| 
not think there is much danger that his system will be adopted bjr>| 
his counti-ymen. Although their progress in political kiiowledgftl 
has been far from keeping pace with their extraordinary advances^ 
in other sciences, the quick instinct of self-interest would set alu 
classes in instant opposition Lo the wild statesman who shout^ 
venture upon measures to reduce these visions to practice. In thtlf 
country it would be idle even to attempt the refutation of some ofi 
the doctrines of M. Fodere. There are few among us, for instaaQtjH 
who could be induced to believe that improveuieiits in machmoy' 
which, in the interval between l^li^ and 1825) enabled England^ 
increase her exports of one species of her manufactures (cottiMt 
goods) from '200,000^. to 30,795,000/. in value, could have abridceA 
Uie comforts of the lower orders, or, in the result, have dioiinished 
the number of labourers employed in our manufactures. And <nK 
author has himself furnished us with some reasons for thinking thAli 
even that class of his countrymen for whom he feels so deep atf 
interest, the agricultural body, would by no means concur in hii' 
schemes for their improvement. It would seem that at the vMjt 
time when M. Fodtre was planning the extension of agricultural 
speculations, the owners and tillers of the soil were complaining oC 
the low price of its produce. He comforts them indeed by tM 
assurance that prices were no better in the times before the li&^ 
volution (times, by the way, to which he frequendy recurs with 
many pathetic aspirations concerning the good old usages of his 
fathers) ; and he adds, that the condition of the peasantry is now 
vasdy improved ; that they are better clad, better ted, and better 
housed ; and that they indulge in luxuries or comtbrCs which their 
predecessors never thought of. It is surprising that it should never 
once have occurred to M. Foder^, that if prices be really low, there 
is at least quite hs much jiroduce raised as the wants of the com- 
muaity reqaire; and that to force faithei: i^ioducVJunx muu. wif 



Fodire on the Poverty of Nations. J07 

In disl7)es5 those who now complfun that their industry does 
fleet an adequate reward. And, supposing his account of the 
to be correct, it is equally strange that he should no); 
perceii^ that the improvement in their condition, which he 
as an argument to soothe their cupidity for ferther gain, could 
imve arisen from the augmentation of me wealth and numbers 
eommercial classes who supply the chief markets for the 
of the soil, but whom, as well as the agriculturists, his 
would ruin. 
We have not space to notice, in detail, the other parts of 
Fod^'s work. They comprise some brief, but spirited 
tebes, partly historical, partly statistic, of the rise and progress 
m^dicity, and of the institutions and expedients to check or 
' !ve it in Europe, and particularly in France. His account of 
establishment of hospitals, and nis remarks on institutions for 
will be read with some interest ; but we cannot refrain 
expressing our regret, that, instead of attempting to complete a 
he dia not make at least this portion of his work more 
statistic lliey who might turn with a smile from his 
>ns on the means of repressing illegitimacy, and prevent- 
Ae growth cyf mendicity and pauperism, would receive, with far 
t impressions, the suggestions which he seems well qualified 
«fe more in detail, on the discipline of hospitals, and of places 
the confinement and reformation of delinquents condemned to 
imprisonment 
the whole, we do not apprehend much danger to political 
J bom the attacks of such assailants as M. Fodi^r^. His 
i<lo ioT&m trade is no doubt shared by many of his country- 
; unmig whom, and in the highest quarters, the notion seems 
be 8(31 -cherished, that what makes their neighbours rich, must 
ily make them poor. Truth is usually a plant of slow and 
ly mm^ when first set in a soil overrun widi a multitude of 
|4I and sturdy errors. Political economy, though it has lived long 
li EoglaBd) yet even here has but lately lifted its head. It is yet, 
vidi lis, bat in blossom. And, like our other improvements in 
fofejr and le^lation, its fruits must be seen here before other 
Mieos wfll share it. But in this, as in so many previous lessons, 
bdind is assuredly destined to be the teacher of her neighbours. 
Vfat is proved to be profitable to her will at length be adopted by 
fcw who most envy and fear her prosperity- If any things how- 
M*, can retard the difibsion of those principles which are rounded 
IJPOD as large a collection of well authenticated facts as any within 
m, whole range of inductive knowledge, it is that idle and ad? 
veaUiroHS spirit oi exaggeration to which we have already alluded ; 
vUch would almost represent political science as capable of the 
Aiotest -pvoc^ the human intellect Can admit; and wYiVcVi v^oviXdi 
'ttily sedc te phee all its favourite doctrines upon tVie same\e.\A 
^ exact eertsdatf. That some doctrines of poUtical ecotvovwj «xe 



1-169 



Sherida n 






fixed upon a basis which it may now be fairly pronounced imposa 
to shake, is not more true than that there are others which fitc4 
sufficiently numerous and certain, have not yet been collected ' 
establish. In the mean time, let us he content with what we haril 
and let us hope that the measures which in this country are now 
progress to attest those principles of the science that have bM 
oflenest and most fully proved may not be impeded, either by Cl 
extravagant and pettish fondness of their advocates, or by ^ 
excited prejudices of some who have not studied, and therefon^ ul 
therefore only, do not understand them. 



Aht. X. Sheridaniana; or. Anecdotes of the Life of Richard BrinA* 
Sheridan; his Table-Talk, and Bon Mots. 8vo. pp. 334. Londfi 
Colburn. 1826. ^ 

In our review of Moore's " X,ife of Sheridan*" we entered so &ill 
into the character of that extraordinary and unfortunate individlkJ 
that we shall offer no more than a few remarks on tlie work beftv 
us: indeed, our chief object in noticing it at all is to avail oursehi^ 
of the opportunity which it affords us of correcting one or two em^ 
1 into which we were led by the authority of a biographer who seeofc^ 
to have had ample means of acquiring the most authentic infotW 
fttion upon every part of his subject 

Towards the decline of Sheridan's life (1812), Mr. Moore «^ 
that the Prince-Regent offered to bring him into Parliament, h^ 
that not choosing to bear " the royal owner's mark, he declined til 
offer." It is due to the distinguished person, on whom this obsi 
ation is intended to reflect, that since the publication of Mr. Mt 
work it has been publicly stated, and not contradicted, that 
Prince-Regent juid his friends offered Mr. Sheridan all theii 
port if he would stand for Westminster on his own principles 
this 'project was defeated chiefly by his own indolence ; that 
Prince then supplied him, through a common friend, with 
thousand pounds, for the purpose of purchasing a Whig seat; Stit 
that in consequence of a disappointment in that quarter a negociatilV 
was opened tor Wooton Basset, which was also rendered ineffi»;tlial 
by Sheridan's indolence, or perhaps by a real reluctance to appeff 
again in Parliament. Tlie worst part of this transaction is, tUl 
Sheridan appropriated the money to his own purposes without W 
• Prince's permission, and indeed, as it would seem, against bS 
I express desire. i 

With respect to the conduct of the Prince towards Sheridqdi 
when the latter was in the last stage of liis existence, Mr. MofglM 
spears also to have been without sufficient information, and in ttf 
absence of il, to have imputed to Ilis Royal Highness the colde^ 



Shetidaniana. 109 

indifference to the wretched condition of his unfortunate friend. 

>^sct8 which have since come to light fully exonerate the Prince 

ftom the censure which is here cast upon him. As soon as be 

'karned Sheridan's situation, he directed that any sum or sums 

necessary for his relief should be conveyed to him in the most ex- 

: ^itious and delicate manner. The relief, indeed, was late, for 

\ oheridan was on his death-bed ; and from the circumstance of the 

[cniysum (200/.) that was accepted having been soon returned 

ilgun to Mr. Taylor Vaughan the agent employed by the Prince 

[Vd that occasion, we are bound to infer that there was something 

in Mr. Vaughan's mode of conducting this delicate transaction 

which wounded Sheridan's pride to a degree too painful to be 

borne. Perhaps, after all, the refusal of the Prince's bounty ori- 

Eted in the irritable temper of a patient, who saw himself, at the 
I of a long, and, during some portion of it, a brilliant public 
.Efe, doomed to descend into the grave disappointed in all his ambi- 
tious projects, and overwhelmed by pecuniary embarrassments of a 
ibost distressing nature. 

The anecdotes and bon mots in the volume before us are pro- 
Ittttdly taken from the works of Mr. Moore, Dr. Watkins, and 
r more perishable records of the day. We are rather sur- 
that if Mr. Moore was acquainted with its existence he did 
make use of the long and very frank and interesting letter, 
fritten by Miss Linley before her public marriage to Sheridan, 
ich the reader will find transferred to this publication from the 
-fifth volume of The Gentleman's Magazine. It gives an ac- 
t of the state of her heart, and indeed of the character of her 
previous to her marriage, very different fi'om that which Mr. 
has preferred. He represents her as perfectly steeled 
the addresses of Mr. Mathews, to whom she never gave the 
test encouragement, and from whose persecution she fled to the 
of Sheridan, to " whose love she became devoted." Her 
places the whole of this story in a point of view not recon- 
le with Mr. Moore's statement of it. As the topic is a tender 
we must permit the lady to speak for herself. * For three 
'she says, ^he (Mathews) never ceased his assiduities to me,' 
three being the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth years of 
' he made me^ instead of flying from him, not only pity 
ut promise him my firiendship.' The * friendship' of a young 
is nearly allied to a more ardent feeling. She soon found her- 
' wretchedly involved in an unhappy passion for a man whom 
it was criminal in her even to think of.' She disclosed her 
iments to her mother, but that good lady ^ laughed at her 
wness;' for Mathews, being a man of wealth, had considerable 
eooe over the theatrical speculations of the family at Bath,,apd 
aiother dioug^t it was not for their * interest to dis\^leaa^ m 
^ " a firiend. 



ygr fid 



I'|I6 



S/ieridaniana. 




' I could not 6j jrom the danger ; after mySm repFO 
ashamed to mention h again tu my mother, and I had every thm^ ■ 
fear from my father's violent temper- For another year we went oB J 
ner ; till at last, fiading it impossible to coni^uer my inclil 
a brought me to a cooiesaion of my weakness, which Il| 
beeii the cause of all my distress. That obstacle removed, nianyottiC| 
fell o( course, arid the next season he prevailed on me to meet hint j 
the house of a friend, as we were not permitted to talk together • 
public.' 

This passage, we think, is sufficient to show that Mr, Malhe* 
ffts Dot quite so indifferent to Miss Linley as Mr. Moore seems t 
tave imagined. Her next suitor was a Mr. Long, an old gen^ 
man of considerable fortune in Wiltshire, who proposed to mart! 
her, and was accepted. Mr. Moore states, that this affair wfl 
frustrated, in consequence of Miss Liiiley secretly representing t 
her accepted lover, that ' she never could be happy as his wife 
whereupon ' lie generously took upon himself tlie whole blame t 
breaking off the alliance, and even indemnified the father, who wi 
proceeding to bring the transaction into court, by settling SOM 
upon his daughter. Her own version of the matter is scared 
consistent with this representation of It. 

' About this time,' she observes, without telling her fHend to who 
she addressed the letter the reason, ' my marriage with Mr. Long bra] 
olT, and my father went to London to commence a law-suit. Durii 
the time he was absent, I went on a visit lo Mr, and Mrs. Norton. S 
had been informed byundouhted authority, that my father would not on 
lose his suit, but that 1 should be exposed in the public court ; as H 
Long had been informed of my meeting Mathews, and intended to mai 
I'se of that as a plea in court. This being told me suddenly, and st 
time when my spirits were greatly distressed, flung me into a high (evt 
I lost my senses some time, and when I recovered was so weak, and h| 
such strong symptoms of a rapid decline, that when my father returtiS 
I was sent to the Wells to drink the waters. While I was there, I # 
told that Mathews, during my illness, had spoken disrespectfully of B 
'n public, and had boasted it was owing to my love for him I was so il 

She resented this conduct on the part of Mathews : she lost i 
time in ' turning her attention' to a certain Mr. R., who all at ohi 
wanted her ' to marry him privately, and to go off with him to ai 
part of the world, till his father died.' This proposal made b 
very angry, and she refused to see Mr. R. until Mathews play* 
off some more of his boasts, when she once more resolved * to t 
courage Mr. R,,' and, though she could not go off with him, si 
told him that when it was in his power she would marry him. Tl 
gentleman, however, turned out lo be a mere male coquette, m 
uhimately 'jilted' her. While she was suffering under the eflfefl 
of Mr, R.'s desertion, Matliews returned ; and it seems, that, bA{ 
all tliat had passed, ' his engaging behaviour sDon regained hi 
that love which had never been quite extinguished !' Het fatlM 
however, ibrbade all furtlier intercourse be\.'we;&n \)ae ^i^ue^ -, ho^ 



IT 



Mokck; a Sacred Drama. Ill 

IMS at this, time that she took Sheridan into her confidene^ and 

mdered him the medium of her communications with Mathof^nrs. 

k is clear, irom her own narratiTC, that she looked on Sheridan as 

tgDod-natnred friend, whose services she stood in need of in order 

to keep up her correspondence with Mathews. This consummate 

Lc^ario wrote to her to say, that he would destroy himself if she 

did not indulge him with ten minutes' conversation. She yielded^ 

and at this interview he swore that if she would not bind herself to 

see him again, * he would shoot himself before her face.' This 

Hireat so sdartned her, that she resolved on suicide, and took a bot* 

tie of laudanum, which the doctors had some difficulty in removing 

from her stomach. Mathews next threatened that he would take 

ker away itom bet fiiraily by force. 

' Bir. Sheridan- then asked me what I designed to do. I told him my 
Bind was in such a state of distraction between anger, remorse, and 
iear, that I did not know what I should do ; but as Mathews had de^ 
dared he i^ould ruin my reputation, I was resolved never to stay in 

She was then easily prevailed on by Sheridan to accompany him 
to France; a step that so- completely committed her, that their union 
^ was the jiecessary result, though it is very clear that she had not 
t contemplated any such thing. She was flying from danger, by the 
^ pssistatice of a friend of her family, whom she had treated almost 
a brother* • He effected his object in a manner highly creditable 
'to his dramatic talents. The whole letter is a curious piece of auto- 
' biography ; and the view which it gives of this important incident in 
^'Sheridian's early life is altogether so much at variance with that 
'. which Mr. Moore exhibits of it, that we must presume this epistle 
; escaped his attention. In addition to this interesting document, the 
reader will find here several extracts from Sheridan's best par- 
liamentary speeches, and, as the editor happily expresses it, ^ such 
ISMgtlkents of wit and eloquence as could, without injury to their 
huSre, bear, as it were, a separate setting/ He merely ckims the 
ptaise of a discfiminating compiler. We must do him the justice 
to add, that he has peribrmed his task successfully, and that he has^ 
produced an agreeable and instructive.volume. 



Abt. XI. MoUch ; or, the Approach of the Deluge. A sacred Drama. 
By the Rev. William Bassett, M. A. 8vo. pp. 157. London. Hatchard 
and Son. 1826. 

An antediluvian drama is not likely, we fear, to attract many readers 
in the present day. A pretty considerable portion of the public are 
unfortunately very prone to suspect, that of the nations that existed 
before the Floods of their manners, and the general a^i^e«£QX^fi& 
of this globe of ours, until it was reformed by that great xex A\x- 



Sic 



Moleck ! a Sacred Dram 



, little is, or ever can be known, with any degree of c^talDt)f)i 
k They are ihereforeinclined to suppose, without giving themselves the 
Lbrouble of much examination, that every attempt to represent human 
I'jpession or employment before that epoch must necessarily be a 
(tailure; and, in nine cases out of ten, they would be right. The 
* Death of Abel" is the only tolerable fiction connected with ant&- 
I diluvian times with which we are ncquainted. We regret that the 
[drama before us does not ftdmit of an exception in its favonr. 

The plot supposes the inhabited world to have been nearly over- 
Knin by a great conqueror named Molecli, who, in the iosoleuce of 
K'lus power, compelled his subjects to worship him as a god. Vices 
\<f£ the most revolting character prevail under his reign, and are 
[encouraged by his own example. He denies the existence of any 
I t)eing superior to himself, and he collects an army for the purpose 
Itif attacking and destroying the ark of Noah, which had been long 

■ prepared by him in expectation of the Deluge. On his march, the 
I KDodgates of Heaven are opened, and he and his depraved dis- 
l-idples are soon buried beneath the waters. The author endeavoun 
I to diversify his subject by the introduction of some sentimental 
i'4^isodes, but the subject is altogether beyond the calibre of his 

■ ijenius. 

f There is very little beauty in the composition to atone for the 
I Itinate defects of the theme. The lines indeed contain in general 
Ffiie due number of syllables, but they want almost every other 
i diaracteristic oi poetry. What does the reader think of the foli 
T lowing specimen of blank verse from the pen of a Master of Arts? ' 
' I am not covetous to govern sheep, 

Or command hosts of ruminating kine; 

I have enough of this inglorious sway : 
' But I desire to govern hosts of men, 

As Noah might once have done !' p. 13. 

We cannot commend either the subject or the manner in wbicfi 
lU is treated; and unless the Kev. Mr. Bassett improve his style 
{■very considerably, and borrow from some spring, sacred or profaoe^ 

J copious draught of inspiration, we would advise him to limit 
_ IS literary career to the composition of his sermons. 









•t 1 1 



t 



1 



THE 



MONTHLY REVIEW. 

JUNE, 1826» 



\ • 



Art. I. The Plain Speaker: Opinions on Books, Men, an4 Things. 

2 Vols. 8V0. \LAh. London. Colburn. 1826. 

» 

AlB* Ha«i.itt is, we believe, the author of these volumes. Al» 

thoiwh he has not affixed his name to their title-pages, jet we 

Immiy thiidb: that he intended any doubt to be entertauied qn^tbo 

mbject, as the matter which thejr contain is full of references to. hid 

penonal hist^. The work is composed, like hk ^ Table**Talk,'' 

of Tarlcms essays, the greater, number of which seem to have beeq 

nitten aome years ago. A few of them appear to be of more 

leooit date^ aad being scattered throu^ the others without mof 

attention to arrangement^ they tend in some degree to perplM llie 

reader who attempts. to peruse the whole consecutively. Facts are 

bnmgbt together which have no sort of connection with each other^' 

md topics that have already sunk into oblivion are mixed with thoaa 

wiiidi are hastening to the same bourn of repose. 

. If this were the only fault of the * Plam l^peaker,' it might 

mtitf be passed over in an author who professes to give opinions 

oAer tban historical details of ^ books, men, and things.' But we 

MSt^ fiHT the sake of our literature, that a deeper stam than that 

dT mere ne^igence pervades too many paoes of his vohimea^ 

Afiecfing, from motives of singularity, or rather, perhaps, from a 

jefect in his early educatioi^ to despise the information that may, 

he d^ved fit>m the general experience of mankind, he confinffg his. 

knowledge of the world, €i nature, science, and the arts, within 

die compass of what he saw with his own eyes, or suffered in his 

oimp^rscm* Every subject of which he treats, he combines^ or* 

ttdeavoiBrs to combine,^ with his own feelii^. He seems to know 

fitde of books, and his excursion to the (x>ntinent seems to have' 

bdnoeflect in withdrawing his eyes from their inward glance,. 

(br he retains in its fuU strength his long chierished propensity to 

)ldEe of all men and of all things by faimsel£ 

^ow many writei^ might be pientiooed jsx whom egptii^ia V^ tme)^ 

ooly pardonable but eminently interesting. Some ot tVve mosX 



The Plain Speaker. 



lichhe* 



exquisite passnges in Lord Byron's writiogs are those In which hi 
figures out the genuine features of his own character. Tlie same 
thing might be said of Rousseau and Gibbon ; but they united to 
the fascinations of style an inlensl^ of feeling, or an elegance of "^ 
philosophy, which commands our sympathies and repays our atten- ^ 
tion. But Mr. Hazlitt offers us none of tliese attractions to com- "^ 
pensftte for his inordinate desire to apeak of himself. His breast '* 
is not warmed by a single ray of imagination, or by a single feeling __ 
in which his readers can participate. If " the genial current of '" 
his soul" has been embittered by disappointments in life, by the ' 
desertion of early friends, or by any other cause, we may feel for ' 
the man ; but we cannot apologize for the writer who would there- " 
fore pollute our literature with that noxious mass of detraction !" 
which forms the leaven of these volumes. As to the style, it dif- ~ 
fers from that of the author's former works only in an increased — 
degree of feebleness and opacity. The sentences follow one an- * 
other in nfearly equal length, unrelieved by variation of construction, '" 
unmarked by any felicity of diction, and scarcely bearing the sign '~ 
of a presiding intelligence. If there be now and then an attempt '' 
at argument, it is founded on a paradox, or ends in a mere asser- ^ 
tion. If there be occasionally a sparkle on the surface, it is the '"* 
phosphorus light of the glow-worm, cold, imbecile, and transitory, ^ 
perceptible only by means of the darkness that surrounds it. 

* Opinions' are very freely given on ' books, men, and things ;' , 
these, however, are judged oS not with a view to the promotion of ^ 
good taste in literature, of propriety in ethics, or of truth in hl^ ,4 
tory, but merely as they have excited the writer's feelings of admir- li 
ation or hatred. He knows no medium between the two extremes, < 
and both, according to our mode of thinking, he generally misap- '- 
plies. We regret that tlie latter feeling, one of those upon whiui * 
every society. Pagan or Christian, has set its stigma of reprobsti<Hi| '" 
leads the way among the objectionable parts of this work. We , 
hardly know whether he is a proper subject for pity or for- coi^ , 
detonation, who could deliberately exhibit to the world the follow- ^ 
ing character of himself and some of his companions : 

' I have quarrelled,' says Mr. Hazlitt, ' with almost all my old friends, 
(they might say this is owing to my bad temper, but) they have also 
qtaarrelled with ^one another. — They are scattered, like last year's 
snow. Some of them arc dead, — or gone lo live at a distance, — or 
pass one another in the street like strangers ; or if they stop to EpeaL, 
do it as coolly, and try to ati one another as soon as possible. — Some 
of us have ifearly earned a name in the world ; whilst others remain in 
their original privacy* We despise the one ; and envy and are glad to 
mortify the other. Times are changed ; we cannot revive our old feeU 
ings ; and we avoid the sight, and are uneasy in the presence of those 
who remind us of our infirmity, and put us upon an effort at seeming 
cordiality, which embarrasBes ourselves, and does not impose upon our- 
gumdam asiiociates. Old friendships are like meats served up repeat- 



The Plain Speaker. 1 1 5 

tUj, cdd, comfortlessy and distasteful. The stomach turns against 
(teni,' — Vol. i. pp. 314, 315. 

We could not have believed, until we read this passage, that any 
person wearing the form of a human being could have uttered 
such sentiments. as these. Not satisfied with the reflection, assur- 
edly not a consoling on^ that he had quarrelled with all his old 
fiiends, he seems to derive a compensation for his misfortune froni 
knowing that they had quarrelled with each other ! There is, 
indeed, as we are taught to believe, a spirit that rejoices in the 
sqmnition of friends, in the propagation of discord, but we imr 
agined that hitherto.it loved its native darkness, and dared not 
to unveil and boast its unblushing front amid the paths frequented 
by mankind. * Some of us,' says this scholar, ^ have dearly earned 
a name in the world; whilst others remain in their original privacy* 
We despise the one ; and eniy and are glad to mortify the other !* 
Who Mr. Hazlitt's associates may be, or have been, we know not, 
but if he truly represents their habits and dispositions, which, for 
the sake of human nature, we trust is not the case, it is fortunate 
for the honour of our literature, if they have been indeed ^ scattered 
like the last year's sndw.' What must they have been, if the fol- 
lowing account of their usual conversation be not a mere in- 
vention ? 

*' I don't know what it is that attaches me to H^-^ so much, exciept 
tliat he and I, whenever we meet, sit in judgment on another set of old 
fiignd$9 find *^ carye them as a dish fit for the gods." There wa^h-^ 

H-r-, John Scott, Mrs. , whose dark raven locks make a picturesque 

background to our discourse, B— -, who is grown fat, and is, they say, 

married, R ; these had all separated long ago, and their foibles are 

the cominon link that holds us together. We do not affect to condole 
or whine over their follies; we enjoy, we laugh at them till we ar^ 
reikdy to 'burst our sides, ^* sans intermission, for hours by the dial.' 
We serve up a course of anecdotes, traitSy miaster-strokes of character, 
aad cut and hack at them till ive are xneary. Perhaps some of them arift 
even with -us. - For my own* part, as I once said, / like a friend the better 
fir having faults that one can talk about. ^' Then," said . Mrsu ■ i -f . , 
** you wifi never cease to be a philanthropist !" — The only intimacy I 
never found to flinch or fade was a purely intellectual one. There was 
none of the cant of candour in it, none of the whine of mawkish sensi- 
bility. Our mutual acquaintance were considered merely as subjects 
of conversation and knowledge, not at all of affection. We regarded 
theno no more in our experiments than *^ mice in an air-pump :**^ Or like 
nud^actors, they were regtdarly cut dckon and given over to the dissecting 
bi^m We spared neither^newrf nor foe. We sacrificed human infirm^ 
Uies at the shrine of truth. The skeletons of character might be seen, 
i^ler the juice was extracted, dangling in the air like flies in cobxvebs : or 
Uiey were kept for future inspection in some refined acid. The demon- 
stration, was as beautiful as it was new. There is no surfeiting yn gall .* 
nothimg keeps so WfU as a decoction of spleen. We grow tired of every 

I 2 . 



ItH The Plain. Speaker. M 

thing but turning others into ridicule, and congratulating ourselvei^^l 
tteir defects.' — Vol. i. pp. 317— 320. ^^1 

The author of this passage, for the insertion of which in Ui9H 
pages we feel that an apology is due to our readers, was borotK 
quarter of a century too late, and in a country not very suitable (o 
his genius. He ought to have been a member oF the French Coo- , 
vention. Had his destiny placed him in that situation, nothing 
could have prevented him, with sucli a character as he declare^ 
himself to possess, from acquiring peculiar distinction in that bo^. '" 
Robespierre and Marat would have exulted in a colleague whose 
temper would have been in every respect so congenial to their * 
own, The man who can boast of destroying the reputation of his ' 
friends as if they were ' malefactors,' could find little difficulty, ID ' 
times of convulsion, of executing them under a similar pretence. " 
Such a man can talk without remorse of ' cutting them down aod * 
giving them over to the dissecting knife,' of ' sparing neither friend * 
nor foe.' If he might not be ' surfeited on gal!,' what drau^t '' 
could be copious or bitter enough to allay a thirst so unnatural 7 ' 
ITie essay from which we have made the above extracts is appro- ' 
priately entitled ' The Pleasure of Hating,' What sort of a '^ 
heart must the individual possess who can derive a sense of plea- ■ 
sure from such a source? Is not this '^ 

" to love , 

Vice for itself?" 

Such language, we are happy to think, has no parallel in our ^ 
literature, unless in that class of it which is the most worthless and 
degraded. It would be spurned even by an Atheist. Indeed ,,. 
we cannot gather from this work to what sect in pohtics, in letters, •, 
or in rehgion, Mr. HazHtt now belongs. He tells us, at the close < 
of the essay from which we have been just quoting, that he is 
' heartily sick of alt his old opinions.' They have, he says, de- 
ceived him sadly ; and he informs us, in indirect terms, of his 
belief that ' genius is a bawd, vutue a mask, liberty a name, and , 
that love has no seat in the human heart. (Vol, i. p. 325.) ' I sec 
folly,' he adds, 'join with knavery, and together make up public , 
spirit and public opinion. I see the insolent Tory, the blind Rfr- , 
former, the coward Whig !' He thus closes the infuriate strmn : , 

' Seeing all this as I do, and unravelling the web of human life into 
its various threads of meanness, spite, cowardice, want of feeling, and 
want of understanding, of indifference towards others and ignorance of 
ourselves — seeing custom prevail over all excellence, itself giving way ' 
to infamy — mistaken as I have been in my public and private hc^MS, 
calculating others from myself, and calculating wrong ; always disap* 
pointed where I placed most reliance; the dupe of friendship, and t«8 
fool of Jove ; have I not reason to hate and to despise myself? Indeed I 
''-,■ and ciiieSy for not having hated and des^v***^ ^^* '"'^'^^i ^''^"iu^h-' 



TJie Plain Speaker. 117 

Here^ thei, we have the secret of all this discontent and rancour: 
be was ' mistaken in his public and private hopes ;' he * calculated 
others from himself^ and he calculated wrong.' So that because 
fortune has not raised Mr. Hazlitt to a high political station, be- 
muse nature denied him the talents which are necessary to success 
n literature, because he mistook his vocation when he abandoned 
be pencil for the pen, it follows, forsooth, that he is the victim of 
spite, cowardice, and want of feeling ;' and his singular * excel* 
enoe* was compelled * to give way' to the general Mnfarny' of man- 
dud ! Admirable philosopher ! A second Socrates ! 

Tet if we are to believe Mr. Hazlitt, when writing in a less despair- 
D^ though not a less egotistical mood, he has seldom been witnout 
:onsolation for the injuries inflicted on him by an ungrateful world. 
3e is particularly delighted with his style of composition, which, he 
ays, whenever he writes at Winterslow, * flows like a river, and over- 
pfeads its banks.' ^ There,' he adds, * I have not to seek for thoughts 
r hunt for im^es : they come of themselves : I inhale them with the 
ireeze, and the silent groves are vocal with a thousand recollections.' 
t seems to be a property peculiar, we apprehend, to the groves of 
Winterslow, that they can be silent and vocal at the same time — 
ocal, too, of * recollections,' whence, we pr^ume, they possess the 
nviable &culty of memoiy. We must give a specimen of the elo- 
uence which be ^ inhaled with the breeze' amid this sylvan scene. 
Ve quote, be it known, from an essay on the question, ^ Whether 
genius is conscious of its Powers ?' — a question which Mr. Hazlitt 
as resolved in the affirmative, so &r, at least, as he himself is con- 
emed. 

* Here (to Winterslow) I came fifteen years ago, a willing exile ; and 
1 1 trod tiie lengthened greensward by the low wood-side, repeated 
le old line, 

* '^ My mind to rae a kingdom is !^ 

found it so then, before, and smce ; and shall I faint, now that I have 
oured out the spirit of that mind to the world, and treated manv sub- 
sets with truth, with freedom, and power, because 1 have been follow- 

I with one cry of abuse ever since for not being a govemment'toolf 
tere I returned a few years after to finish some wcMrks I had under-' 
iken, doubtful of the event, but determined to do my best ; and wrote 
lat character of Millimant which was once transcribed by fingers faiter 
urn Aurora's, but no notice was taken of it, because I was not a 
ovemment-tool, and must be supposed devoid of taste and elegance by 

II who aspired to these qualities in their own persons. Here I sketched 
ly account of that old honest Signior Orlando Friscobaldo, which with 
B fine, rtusy, acrid tone that old crab-apple, G*ff***d, would have 
dislied or pretended to relish, had I been a government-tool I Here, 
la^ I have written Table-Talks without number, and as yet without a 
l&i^-ofl^ till now that they are nearly done, or I should not TOBk^ \h\\% 
NBt. I could swear fwrn-e they not mine) the thougYvta \t\ t(\^tv^ q^ 
lein are founded as the rock, free as air, the' ton^e Vike aa l\.«\v«ft. Yie^ 
re. What then ? Had the style been like polished stee\, as ^tm «lxv^ 

X 5 



TJte Plain Spcakei 



1 



8S brigbt, it would have availed me nothing, for I am not a governnu ^_ 

tool ! I had endeavoured to guide the ta^te of the English people to tbe ^ 

best old English writers ; but I had said ihat English kings did not ^ 
reign by right divine, and that His present Majesty was descended from 

an elector of Hanover in a right line ; and no loyal subject would after ^ 

this look into Webster or Deckar because I had pointed them out. I • 

]»ad done something (more than any one except Schlegel) to vindicat« ■" 

the Characters of shaiiespears jP/a^s from the stigma of French criticiwai f| 

but our Anti-Jacobin and Anti-Gallican writers soon found out that 1 ^ 

had said and written that Frenchmen, Englishmen, men were not slaves ^ 

by birth-right. This was enough to damn the work. Such has been ^ 

the head and front of my offending. While my friend Leigh Hantwai ^ 

writing tlie Descent of Liberty, and strewing the march of the alHed ^ 
sovereigns with flowers, 1 sat by the waters of Babylon and hung niy 

harp upon the willows. I knew all along there was but one alternative ■ 
— the cause of kings or of mankind. This I foresaw, this I feared; 

the world see it now, when it is too late. Therefore I lamented, sad ■ 

would take no comfort when the mighty fell, because we, all men, fell ■ 
with him, like lightning from heaven, to grovel in the grave of Labertyt 
in the stye of Legitimacy!' — Vol.i. pp.291 — 293. 

For ourselves, we presume that we would not be readily sas- 
pected of assisting to denounce any writer, because ' be was not a 
government- tool.' If we have any prejudices on the subject, we 
rather believe that they run the other way, though we own that we '^ 
have no great admiration for a man who would become the ' tool' ■ 
of any party. But we firmly believe, that if all thecriticaljournaUin * 
the empire were to unite for the purpose of hunting down aparticn- ^ 
lar writer from unworthy motives, they would fail in their object, if , 
that writer had any considerable portion of sterling merit to sustain ,^ 
him with the public. That public, composed as it is of a mass of - 
intelligence, honesty, and patriotism, such as no other coniitrr can u 
boast of, would sooner or later reverse the unjust sentence of par- * 
tial criticism, and amply compensate the injured party by the tribute ' 
of its own applause, and by securing to hira the admiration of pos- 
terity. If the judgment of the literary tribunals has not yet been ' 
subverted in favour of Mr. Hazlitt, he must have no just right to 
complain ; for the public would before diis time have come to his 
assistance, if his ' genius' really possessed all die ' powers' of which 
he seems to he so ' conscious.' 

Without entering into any of that minute criticism to which the 
whole of this passage is so openly exposed, we must confess that we 
have always entertained doubts of the sincerity of those individnala 
in the cause of liberty, who during his ascendancy hailed the suc- 
cess of Buonaparte, or upon his overthrow deplored his fall. If Mr. 
Hazhtt be one of those who ' lamented, and would take no comfort 
vifheu the mighty fell,' he must 'be contented to stand among the 
suspected soldiers of the garrison, upon whom, in the hour of peril, 
no reliance could be placed. We cnniiot conceive by what process 
of reasoning it is, that an Englishman can reconcile it to his habits 



Tli£ Plain Speaker. 1 19 

of thinking, to * lament' the destruction of the tnobl inexorable 
enemy which not only this country but the freedom of mankind ev«f 
encountered. What is catled ' legitimacy' may indeed be hostile 
to the progress of free institutions upon the Continent, but it does 
not operate to the injury of England ; and circumstances have oc- 
curml since the commencement of its reign, which show that it is 
Bot altaij^Bther beyond the influence of our councils, and, above aJQ 
of our living example. But let us pass to other themes. 

Mr. liazlitt, though he proses a great deal upon the tine arts, is, 
however, more endurable on that subject than upon either Uterature 
or politics. A scholar could never have written as he has written 
of* intellectual ^ypbuses always rolling the stone of knowledge up 
a hill, (or the perverse pleasure of rolling it down again.' (Vol. l 
p. 36.) If the classic tale may be relied upon, Sisyphus would 
have been too happy to let the stone rest upon the top of the bi^j, 
if he could only get it there .- 

" Optat supremo collocare Sisyphus 

In monte saxum ; sed velant leges Jovis." 

We very much agree in the following observadons, which w^ 
select from an essay ' On Application to Study.' 

lere cannot be a greater coDtradiction to the common prejudtctf 

Genius is naturall;^ a truant and a vagabond," than the astonish- 

' (on this hypotliEBis) unaccountable number o( ckef-tfieuvres left 

by the old masters. The stream of their invention supplies 

(ucceasive generations like a river ! they furnish a hundred 

galleries, and preclude competition, not more by the excellence than 

the number of their performances. Take Raphael and Kubena 

le. There are works of theirs in single collections enough to 
occupy a long and laborious life, and yet their works are spread through' 
alt the collections of Europe. They seem to have cost them no moro 
labour than if they " had drawn in their breath and pulFed it forth 
again." But we know that they made drawings, studies, sketches of all^ 
the principal of these, with the care and caution of the merest tyros in the 
art; and they remain equal pruol's of their capacity and diligence. Thei 
Cartoons of Raphael alone might have employed many years, and mado' 
a life of illustrious labour, though they look as if they had been struck 
off at a blow, and are not a tenth part of what he produced in his short 
but bright career. Titian and Michael Angelo lived longer, but thev 
workea as hard and did as well. Shall we bring in competition witli 
examples like these some trashy caricaturist or idle dauber, who has no 
Kose of the infinite resources of nature or art, nor consequently any 
power (o employ himself upon them for any length of time or to any 
purpose, to prove that genius and regular industry are incompatible 
<|u Jilies ? 

' In my opinion, the very superiority of the works of the great 
painters (instead of being a bar to) accounts for their multiphcity. 
Power is pleasure; and pleasure 
(cribes the effect of the sight of 






Y 

alo 



Power is pleasure; and pleasure sweetens pain. A fine poet thus de- 



...e souudin" cataract 

iiAuated me like a padsion : the t^i lock, 



Tie Plain leaker. 

The iDOuotAin, and the dee[> and gloomy Wood, 
Their colours and their forms were then to me 
An appetite, a feeling, aod a love, 
That had no need of a remoter charm 
By thought supplied, or any interest 
UnhoiTOwed from the eye. ' 



1 



So the forms of nature, or the huntan form divine, stood before llw , 
great artists of old, nor required any other stimulus to lead the eye t/o , 
Burvey, or the hand to embody them, than the pleasure derired from tie , 
mspiration of the subject, and " nropulsire force" of the mimic crea- 
tion. The grandeur of their works was an argument with them, not 
to stop short, but to proceed. They could have no higher excitement 
or satisfaction than in the exercise of their art and endless generation 
of truth and beauty. Success prompts to exertion ; and habit fadli- 
tates success. It is idle to suppose we can exhaust nature ; and the 
more we employ our own faculties, the more we strengthen them and 
enrich our stores of observation and invention. The wore we do, the ' 
more we can do. Not indeed if we gel oar idem out of our own heads — 
that stock is soon exhaugted, and we recur to tiresome, vapid imitations 
of ourselves. But this is the difference between real and mock talent, 
between genius and affectation. Nature is not limited, nor does it be- , 
come effete, tike our ccuiceit and vanity. The closer we examine it, th^ '_ 
more it refines upon us ; it expands as we enlarge and shift our riew ; 
h " grows with our growth, and strengthens with our strength." The 
subjects are endless; and our capacity is invigorated as it is called out 
hy occasion and necessity. He who does nothing, renders himself in- 
capable of doing any thing ; but while we are executing any work, 
we are preparing and qualifying ourselves to undertake anoUier.' — Vol. i. 
pp. 136— 139. 

The subject is, upon the whole well treated, and it is one of ge- 
neral importance ; but we undertake to say that the ideas which are 
spread by Mr. Hazlitt, in his usual diffuse style, over twenty pages, 
might be easily compressed within five. The composition would 
thus be improved, and the reader spared a great deal of unnecessary 
trouble. Mr. Hazlitt dedicates an essay to ' Envy,' of the character 
of which some notion may be formed from the specimens which we 
have already given of the author's personal dispositions. It k in 
tlie form of" a dialogue, and contains a mass of ungenerous attacks 
upon literary and public men, which, however, no person of taste 
will ha.ve the patience to read. Itis tbecondltion attached to mean 
and unworthy topics, that they degrade the mind of him who 
haodlea them to their own level. His composition is fitted to his 
theme — grovelling, vapid, a miserable exhibition of the serpent 
without the sting. 

From the opinion which we have expressed of the general cha- 
racter of these volumes, it will not be expected that we should make 
furth^ extracts from them. We are inclined, however, to admit an 
exception in favour of the essay upon Madame Pasta, and Made- 
moiselle Mars. Those wlio have snen PasVa will Uuwk with us 
ii^t ker-powees are by no means overrated. 



. Tke Plain Speakir. 181 

• < 'MademLoi^Ue' Mars has greater deganoe, perhafis, and pfeciBibn of 
nHyle than MadamQ Patta> o\A not half her boldness or grace. In 
short, every thing she does is Yolimtaiyi instead of being spontaneous, 
{t seems as if she might be acting from marginal directions to her part. 
When not speaking, Sxe stands in general quite still. When she speaks, 
she extends first one hand and then the other, in a way -that you caq 
foresee every time she does so, or in whiqh a machine might be elabor- 
ittdy coiiiltracted to develope different successive movements. When 
flhe enters, Ae adyances in a straight line from the other end to the 
middle of the stage with the slight unvarying trip of her country- 
iroilien, and then stops short, as if under the drill of a fiigal'man. 
When she speaks^ she articulates with perfect clearness and propriety, 
but it is the &cility of a singer executing a difficult passage. The case 
19 that of habit, not of nature. Whatever she does, is right in the in- 
tention, and she takes care not to carry it too far ; but she appears to 
^ beforehand, <^ This I will do, I must not do thatJ* Her acting is an 
imnritable study or consummate rehearsal of the part as a preparatory 
performance : she hardly yet appears to have assumed the character ; 
somethmg more is wanting, ana that something you find in Madame 
J'^ista. U" Mademoiselle Uigurs has to smile, a slight and evanescent ex- 
pression of pleasure passes across the surface of her face ; twinkles in 
her eyelids,' dimples her chin, compresses her lips, and plays on each 
feature : when Madame Pasta smiles, a beam of joy seems to have 
struck upon her heart, and to irradiate her countenance. Her whole 
face is bathed and melted in expression, instead of its glancing from 
particular points. When she speaks, it is in music. When she moves,^ 
it is without thinking whether she is graceful or not. When she weeps* 
it is a fountain of tears, not a few trickling drops, that glitter aad^ 
vanish the instant afler. The French themselves admire Madama 
Pasta's acting, (who indeed can help it ?) but they go away thinking 
how much one of her simple movements would be improved by their 
extravagant gesticulations, and that her noble, natural expression 
would be the better for having twenty airs of mincing affectation added 
to it. In her Nina there is a listless vacancy, an awkward grace, a 
want of Uenseancej that is like a child or a changeling, and that no 
l^ench actress would venture upon for a moment, lest she should be 
sospected of a want of* esprit or of bon mien. A French actress always 
plays before the court ; she is always in the presence of an audience, 
wiuL whom she first settles her personal pretensions by a significant hint 
or side-glance, and then as much nature and simplicity as you please. 
Pbor Madame Pasta thinks no more of die audience than Nina herself 
would, if she could be observed by stealth, or than the fawn that 
wounded comes to drink, or the flower that droops in the sun or wags its 
sweet head in the gale. She gives herself entirely up to the impression 
of the part, loses her power over herself, is led away by her feelings 
either to an expression of stupor or of artless joy, borrows beauty from, 
deformity, charms unconsciously, and is transformed into the very being 
she represents. She does not act the character — she is it, looks it, 
breathes it. She'does not study for an effect, but strives to possess 
herself of the feeling which should dictate what she is to do, and which 
gives birth to the proper degree of grace, dignity^ eaae, ox Wce« ^^ 
makes no poiiit aU the w^ through, but her whole style aTi3m\«KCi«t vi 
m p^r^ct keeping, as if she were really a lo\e-ft\cV> <c«ce-crKiift^ 



Tlie Last of ike Mohicam, 



:&^P 



iHwclen, occupied with one deep »orrow, and who had no nth<;r Hit' 
interest in the world. This alone U true nature and true ait. Ilie reat 
is sophistical ; and I'rench art is not free from the imputation : it iie*er i 
places an implicit faith in nature, but always mixes up a certain poitkn < 
of art, that is, of consciousness and affectation with it,'— Vokn. 
pp.311— 314. 

If Mr. Hazlitt wrote a little more frequently in this stjle, and up<m . 
subjects such as this, lie would find little reason to complain of t^ : 
apathy of the public towards him, or of the severity of the critics. : 
But he loves too much *' to fish in troubled water." We hare but 
to turn over two or three essays further on of a very different d& 
scription, until we arrive at the last and the most objectionable of tbe < 
whole, ' On the Spleen of Party.' There is, indeed, ' no surfeiting oa 
gall,' if Mr. Hazlitt's example may be deemed a sufficient autiiority> 
We shall not disgust our readers by any extracts from this vai 
and unsparing effusion of egotism, and shall only say, in the words 
of the author, that ' having got to the end of the volume, we hope ^ 
never to look into it again.' 



Art. 11. The Last of the Mohicans; a Narrative of 1757. 
Author of " The Spy," " llie Pilot," " The Pioneers," &c. 
12nio. \l. U. John Miller. 1826. 



ora^M 
.rthefB"" 



1 HE " American novels" have rapidly been acquiring a cbara< 
quite as distinctive of its kind iis that which our great northeni g 
magician lias created for the narrative fiction of his countty< , 
Doubtless, but for the example of the author of Waverley, we 
should never have heard of the American historical tale; and . 
nothing would be more absurd than to imagine any equality of ))j- 
ventive genius, between the gifted spirit who has originated die | 
most delightful class of modern romance, and the most successM . 
of his imitators on either side of the Atlantic. But very consider^ 1 
able praise is still doe to more than one of the Amencan novelists ] 
for the tact and good judgment which have led them to borrow no 
more than the rules of their art, and to apply them to the fabri- 
cation of materials which were their own proper and incoiitestible 
possession. It is their particular merit to have seen, that the 
neglected records of iheir early colonial and of their later national 
history abounded in a wild and unusual cast of romance ; and that 
by their hands alone could these be wrought up and blended ap- 
propriately with the colouring of native habits, costume, and 
scenery. All this they have assumed for a sufficient fund of 
CuriQsity and interest ; and it constitutes also a sufficient, as it is 
their only, title to originality. They have boldy undertaken to 
sketch the manners ana characters of their ancestors, but a gener- 
uiian or t^o removed, either as colonists contending in desperation 
/or^vpei:tj- tmd JJfe iigaiiist tlie encroac\iiQg Yie.ocV'ma.n vt\4 'Oci^, 



The Laa of the MMcanL lt$ 



iefoe Jsdian, x>r as citizens pvoodly strugglihg for natioiud 
aod republican independence. 

These sketches none bat themselves would desire to select, or 
woaid be free to execute with dramatic keeping and accuracy ; and 
jet even to them the subjects bore every facility of fiction* For ia 
America a single age of revolution and independence has changed the 
wbde aspect of society, and thrown back the occurrences of a niere' 
half century past into the distant obscurity and romantic licht of 
antk^ty. Tliis advantage the American novelists were not slow tO" 
perceive; and they have availed themselves skilfully of it They 
hAve liapfHly drawn the foundations of their romances from the 
reoocds. oi Uieir national fortunes; and their works are, in the 
main, genuine historical pictures. The style and expression of 
their painting are those of the author of Waverley : but the sub- 
jeets, and characters, and grouping of their stories, are their own* 
Their productions are not mere bungling copies of their great 
DKBSter> but ra^er pieces executed only after his best manner, and 
often with a free and spirited design. 

Among these American novelists, the author of the volumes he^ 
fore US figures the Coryphaeus of the band. Mr. Cooper— for 
like other anflm/mou& writers his name is well known — is really a 
persoii of very considerable and even extraordinary talents. Bemg 
originally bred to the sea, he served as a midshipman in the 
American navy ; and this earlv pursuit of a profession of daiu^r 
has ministered to the strength of his vigorous imagination. His 
I^ot is unquestionably the best romance of nautical adventure 
which our tipes have produced; and there is one scene in that tale 
— a se^-figHt — which, if he had never written another line, would 
alone distinguish him for a master of powerful description* Many 
passives irom his other novels might be cited to support this 
reputation: but our present business is only with the narrative 
Kdbrens. 

He has here attempted to offer a picture of Indian character and 
life ; and we may be justified, by a personal acquaintance with the 
aborigin^ tribes of the North- American wilderness which falls to the 
lot of fow Europeans, in pronouncing with confidence that it is a re- 
presehtation of admirable fidelity. That the author has availed 
himself of the nftrl:ative of John Hunter and of the notices of the 
missionary Heckewelder, is extremely probable ; but we are con- 
vinced that the tale could never have been written, with the peculiar 
graphic truth which marks every page of his delineations of Indian 
manners, unless he' had himself mingled with the red children of 
his country's forests. Elaborate relations of their general usages, 
and even imitations of their nervous land figurative language, might 
be copied from books : but here we have a thousand little pecu- 
liarities of habit, gesture, tone, and attitude, throwu tvs \1 ^^t^ Vci- 
ddentally and unconsciously into the narrative, but \9>^\^ co\i\^ 
not possibfy- have been noted except by faraWvat ?mv^ vj^OdS^ 



1 24 Jlte Loit of the MoAicam. 

observance from the life. We are particular in remarking the 
and pei-petual recunence of these little characteristic touchl 
because they serve to determine the pretensions of the work to * 
highest praise which can be bestowed upon it. They certify 
is all that it claims to be, — an authentic exhibition of the * 
and most fearfully romantic state of society, which the world 
ever known. 

The structure of the tale itself is sufficiently simple, but 
narrative is frequently worked up to an intensity of horror and an 
agony of suspense which are really much more than interesting : 
the anxiety of the reader becomes engrossed, and his imagination 
excited, in many of the situations of the story, to a degree which is 
absolutely painful. Indeed it is a positive fault in the romaDoe 
that the personages, for whom our sympathies are keenly awakened, 
encounter one unrelieved and perpetual crisis of terrific danger 
through three whole volumes of adventure. They are never for an 
instant secured from the appalling contingencies of a conflict with 
the Indian. Throughout the entire tale, the lair and ambush are 
around them and the war-whoop in their eare : the death-shot from 
the unerring rifle is the least of their dangers ; and the tomahawk, 
the scalping knife, and the demoniac refinements of savage torture, 
appear as their hourly and impending lot. The first volume is 
filled with the thrilling details of an encounter with the Indians, 
which should seem to terminate, afkr a quick succession of immi- 
nent perils and as many sudden escapes, in the temporary safely of 
tbe rescued victims. These adventures are conceived with vivid 
invention, and the circumstances are told with amazbg animation 
and force of description. Through this first volume we are led by 
the author in breathless rapid interest : our attention is never off the 
stretch ; and yet we seek no relief, until we have seen the objects ol 
our sympathy beyond their first series of dangers. But then it Is 
that we encounter the prominent defect of the work. The second 
volume resembles the first, and the third is a repetition of the 
second. Without respite, without variety of interest, and almost 
without any change of scene, machinery, or action, we are led in an 
uniformity of horror through two volumes more of Indian ambushes, 
pursuits, battles, massacres, and scalpings. 

But a brief outline of the plot of the tale will best give an idea 
both of its intensity of interest and of the leading detect to which 
we have been alludmg. The ground-work of the story is a his- 
torical incident in the thii'd year (1757} of the last French Cana- 
dian war: — the siege of the British fort of William-Henry on 
Lake George, by the French under the Marquis of Montcalm, the 
capitulation of the place, and the subsequent horrible butchery of 
the garrison by the Indian allies of the victors, who coolly looked 
on without one generous effort to throw themselves between the re- 
Tiorsetess savages and their defenceless enemies w\\o had confided 
Ja ihae'Si^t/.-Itis n(X the least melancho\y ooA iis^;c8KsXvi a^ 
Ii 



The Last of the Mohicam. l$$ 



Eon of tliis gloomy event, — which is known in the colonial i 
as The Massacre of William- Henry, — that Webl^ tlw 
commander-in-chie^ lay passively at Fort Edward on tli« 
Hudson, within a few miles of the scene, with lui army which 
might have relieved the besieged and averted their fate. But Iha 
terror inspired by the successes of the French, and the cruelties of 
their Indian confederates in the precediug campaigns, had paralysed 
the counsds of the British, and communicated its infection to thf 
measures of tlieir General, 

Our tale opens with the arrival of the first intelligence at Webh'J 
head-quarters of the advance of Monlcalm by Lake Champlaia 
and the danger of the fortress of William-Henry. Webb content* 
hmiself with sending a reinforcement to the garrison ; and, by 
L rather an improbable exposure of two such tender beings to tht 
point of threatened danger, the same opportunity is chosen to cod4 
iluct the lovely daughters of Colonel Munro, the commandant of 
William- Henry, to their fktlier'a post. These young ladies, Cort 
and Alice, the co-heroines of the tale, are escorted by Major Duih 
can Heyward, the youdiful friend or ward of Munro, and ol 
course the lover of at least one of bis daughters. By a second im^ 
probabihty Heyward sees more danger in accompanying the marc4 
of the column of troops with his fair charges Uian in committiiDK 
himself and them to the guidance of an Indian, who promlsa'; to lea4- ' 
ihem to "W'illi am- Henry by a secret and circuitous route throu^^ 
Ltie woods. This Indian, named Magua, is a principal |)ersonag9.« 
in the tale. He had been a chief among his own Huron tribe iR 
the Canadian wilds until the Whites, as he is made to declar^: 
' taught him to drink tlie fire-water, and he became a I'ascid/ 
His nation had then expelled him, — ' driven him from th« 
graves of hLs father,' — and he had joined the tribes in the Gritisl). 
ioterest. Preserving his fatal passion for the lire-water, he had* 
Id a moment of intoxication, infringed some mihtary regulation of 
Monro's quarters, and the Colonel had in consequence ordered hisi. 
to be flogged. This imprudent severity had sunken deep an(^^ 
venomously into the memory of the Indian. He had been disf. 
graced by marks on the back which * he must hide, like a squaw, 
under the painted cloth of the Whites ;' and he harboured ths 
purpose of vengeance with all that enduring mjdignity which tha. 
nature, if once thoroughly exasperated, is so capable of- 
ig. He has undertaken to guide the daughters of the hated 
only that he may bewilder them in the forest, and delivex 
over to some party of Indians in the French alliance ; and his ,. 
IKacherous purpose is nearly consummated, when the traveller! i 
fuituoately meet with three outlying scouts from the British camp* 
a white maij and two Indians. Heyward communicates to thenv 
his suspitdons of his guide, and they endeavour to sevte^a^isk', 
bat be contrives to elude their grasp, and escapes Airovigln.xXwfexfc?'"*- 



PKT 



.'T/ic Lasi of fie MMcatts. 



e lighted the haughty features o( tlie young Mohi 
betraying liis knowledge of the English language, as well as of 
other's meaning, but he aufTered it to pass away without viudicatioi 
i-eply. 

' " I cannot permit you to accuse Uncas of want of judgment d 
skill," said Duncan; "he saved my life in the coolest and rr- 
manner, and he has made a friend who never will reijuire to be ri 
ed of the debt he owes." 

' Uncae partly raised his body, and offered his hand to the g 
Heyward. During this act of friendship, the two young men! 
changed looks of intelligence, which caused Duncan to forget thef 
racter and condition of nis wild associate. In the meanwhile, Hawkf 
who looked on this burst of youthful feeling with a cool but kiiu 
gard, made the following calm reply : 

' " Life is an obligation which friends often owe to each other ias 
wilderness, I dare say I may have served Uncas some such torn myS 
before now ; and I very well remember, that he has stood between me ■ 
and death five dlScrent times ; three times from the Mingoes, once in ' 
crossing Horican, and — " ' 

' " That bullet was better aimed than common t" exclaimed Duncan, ' 
involuntarily shrinking from a shot which struck on the rock at his side 
with a smart rebound. 

' Hawk-eye laid his hand on the shapeless metal, and shook his ' 
head, as he examined it, saying, " Falling lead is never flattened ! had 
it come from the clouds this might have happened !" 

' But the rifle of Uncas was deliberately raised toward the heavens, 
directing the eyes of his companions to a point, where the mystery was 
immediately explained. A ragged oak grew on the right bank of the 
river, nearly opposite to their position, which seeking the freedom of 
the open space, had inclined sa far forward, that its upper branches 
overhung that arm of the stream which flowed nearest to its own shore. 
Among the topmost leaves, which scantily concealed the gnarled and 
stinted limbs, a dark looking savage was nestled, partly concealed hj 
the trunk of the tree, and partly exposed, as though looking down upon 
them, to ascertain the effect produced by his treacherous aim. 

• " These devils will scale heaven to circumvent us to our ruin," said 
Hawk-eye ; " keep him in play, boy, until I can bring ' kill-deer" M 
hear, when we will try his metal on each side of the tree at once." 

' Uncas delayed his Are until the scout uttered the word. The riflel 
flashed, the leaves and bark of the oak flew into the air, and were scat- 
tered by the wind, but the Indian answered their assault by a taundng 
laugh, sending down upon them another bullet in return, that struck &e 
cap of Hawk-eye from his head. Once more the savage yells burst out 
of the woods, and the leaden hati wliistled above the heads of the be- 
sieged, as if to confine them to a place where they might hccoine easy 
victims to the enterprise of the warrior who had mounted the tree. 

' " This must be looked to !" said the scout, glancing about him with 
an anxious eye. " Uncas, call up your father ; we have need of all our 
weapons to bring the cunning varment from his roost." 

' The signal was instantly given j and before Hawk-eye had reloaded 
his rifle, they were joined by Chingachgook. When his son pointed ofll 
to the experienced warrior the situaUon of t\ieiT Aati^eto>36 ftviewvv, the 
luaa/ exdamatwy " bugh" burst from l^!UM]^_m&w^^*^* ""~ 



Tiie Last of the Mohicans. 129 

expression of surprise or alarm was suffered to escape from him. 
Hlirk-eye and the Mohicans conversed earnestly together in Delaware 
fifl^m few moments; when each quietly took his post, in order to execute 
tte pl&n they had speedily devised. 

* The warrior in the oak had maintained a quick, though ineffectual, 
fiRy'fitom the moment of his discovery. But his aim was interrupted 
ky the vigilance of his enemies, whose rifles instantaneously bore on any 
pirt of his person that was left exposed. Still his bullets fell in the 
centre of the crouching party. The clothes of Heyward, which ren- 
doed him peculiarly conspicuous, were repeatedly cut, and once blood 
*wa8 drawn from a slight wound in his arm. 

* At length, emboldened by the long and patient watchfulness of his 
enemies, the Huron attempted a better and more fatal aim. The quick 
ef^ of the Mohicans caught the dark line of his lower limbs incau- 
tiously exposed through the thin foliage, a few inches from the trunk of 
die tree. Their rifles made a common report, when, sinking on his 
wounded limb, part of the body of the savage came into view. Swift 
as thought, Hawk-eye seized the advantage, and discharged his fatal 
weapon into the top of the oak. The leaves were unusually agitated ; the 
dangerous rifle fell from its commanding elevation, and after a few mo- 
ments of vain struggling, the form of the savage was seen swinging in 
die wind, while he grasped a ragged and naked branch of the tree 
with his hands clenched in desperation. 

< ^* Give him, in pity, give him, the contents of another rifle !*' cried 
Duncan, turning away his eyes in horror from the spectacle of a fellow- 
creature in such awful jeopardy. 

* ** Not a kamel !" exclaimed the obdurate Hawk-eye ; ^' his death 
is certun, and we have no powder to spare, for Indian fights, some- 
times, last for da3rs ; 'tis their scalps, or ours ! — and God, who made 
us, has put into our natures the craving after life !*' 

* Against this stem and unyielding morality, supported, as it was, by 
such visible policy, there was no appeal. From that moment the yells 
in die forest once more ceased, the nre was suffered to decline, and all 
ejes, those of friends, as well as enemies, became fixed on the hopeless 
con^tition of the wretch, who was dangling between heaven and earth. 
The body yielded to the currents of air, and though no murmur or 
grdan escaped the victim, there were instants when he grimly faced his 
foes, and the anguish of cold despair might be traced, through the in- 
tervening distance, in possession of his swarthy lineaments. Three 
several tunes the scout raised his piece in mercy, and as often prudence 
getting the better of his intention, it was again silently lowered. At 
length, one hand of the Huron lost its hold, and dropped exhausted to 
his side* A desperate and fruitless struggle to recover the branch suc- 
ceeded, and then the savage was seen, for a fleeting instant, grasping 
wildly at the empty air. The lightning is not quicker than was the 
flame from the rine of Hawk-eye ; the limbs of the victim trembled and 
ccmtracted, the head fell to the bosom, and the body parted the foam- 
ing waters, like lead, when the element closed above it, in its ceaseless 
vwodty, aiid every vestige of the unhappy Huron was lost for ever. 

' No shout of triumph succeeded this important advantage, but the 
Mohfeans gazed at each other in silent horror. A single ^eVVWx^X. 
from the woods^ and all was again stUL Hawk-eye, who aioxie a^^e^x^^ 



stru 
lad, 

to t 
peril 



TAe iMtil of the Mohicans. 

ehook his heai), at his own moraentaty v 
even uttering hta self-disapprobation aloud. 
'Twas the last charge in my Iiorn, and the last bullet in 
'twas the act of a boy !" he Baiil ; " what mattered it whetiM 
struck the rock living or dead f feeling would soon be over, 
lad, go down to the canoe, and bring up the big horn ; it is 
powder we have left, an<l we shall need it to the last grain, 
Ignorant of the Mingo nature." ■■ — Vol.i. pp. 156 — 165. 

After this scene follows one of ai:cumulated horror. One of their 
mies h.ts boldly swam to the island, and carried off their canoe, _ 
us left without ammunition, and without the last means of escape, ^ 
whole party prepare for death, until Cora persuades the reluct- ^ 
It scout and the two Indians to swim down the current, with the 
;mote hope of reaching Webb's head-quarters, and bringing a party . 
to their rescue. The attempt is made, and the three warriors drop "^ 
down the stream unobserved ; but Hey ward and the sisters, after a ' 
period of dreadful suspense, have heard their enemies land on Uie 
island, and quit it, without discovering them in their concealraeti^ ^ 
rhen an accident exposes them to the view of Magua, who had _^ 
jered behind the band. The captives are dragged forth, but ~ 
ir lives are spared, for the Indians determine to reserve prisoncirs 
such distinction for Montcalm. They select Magua, with sis of ^ 
le band, for their escort ; but the implacable ruffian has no sooner. ~ 
tparated from the main body than he attempts to glut his revenge. 
in his refinement of malignity, atid inftumed by the beauty of Corsi ' 
he ofiers her the alternative of purchasing the release of the rest df 
the party, by herself becoming his squaw, or of enduring with them ' 
torture and death. On the rejection of his ofter, he excites the 
ferocity of his companions by reminding them of the friends whom " 
tliey had lost in the late conflict ; and wrought to fury by his " 
harangues, they have just bound their captives, in preparation ftir " 
Ithe torture, when Hawk-eye and the two Mohicans, who had, un- * 
in, been hanging on the track of the party, burst in to the rescue. * 
len we have a second death-struggle, and again a third, before the ^ 
ivellers, led by Hawk-eye, pass through the beleaguering French 
ists in a fog, and gain in safety the interior of the fort of WLliam* 
[enry. 

After their arrival, we have a few animated chapters devoted to - 

le nari'ative of the siege of the fortress, the gallant defence of i 

'unro, and his final and inevitable necessity to capitulate. Then i 

illows the historical fact of the evacuation of the place, the onset rf t 

le treacherous Indians, and the infamous apathy of Montcalm : 

during the massacre of great part of tt)e garrison. In that terrific t 

scene of butchery, the two daughters of Munro again fall into die , 

hands of Magua, and again the savage anticipates the maligi 

Jsfaction of making the child of the detested ' giey hea$ 

and his slave. 



Rankings Historical Researches* • \ 31 

- The last part of the tale, and not the shortest, may be said to 
commence with the re-appearance of Munro, Hejrward, Hawk-eye, 
and the two Mohicans, all of whom had escaped the massacre, among 
die ruins of William-Henry, which Montcalm, after its surrender, 
had dismantled and quitted with his army. The mourning party have 
returned to the scene of slaughter to seek either for the remains of 
Cora, and Alice, or for some trace of their existence. A fragment 
of Cora's veil is found in the neighbouring forest ; and this slight 
due is sufficient to throw the acute observation of the Mohicans 
upon the * trail,' or track of the captors, and to enable them to fasten 
upon the direction which Magna and his party had taken with their 
£ur vicdnis towards the frontiers of Canada. We are then led with 
tlie wretched father, the anxious lover, and their three faithful at- 
tmdants, into a new and long succession of adventures; and we 
plunge with them into the series of Indian stratagems, hair-breadth 
'scapes, and mortal encounters, through which they finally discover 
Cora and Alice, separated in the villages of two difierent tribes. 
Here we are introduced thoroughly into the interior of Indian life 
and manners. ^ The Last of the Mohicans' is recognised as the here- 
ditary chieflain of a tribe of the Delaware people, who had emi- 
grated beyond, the Canadian border; and the romance closes with a 
batde between them and the Huron brethren of Magna, in whk^h 
the latter people are vanquished and exterminated. "^ "^'^^ 

The denouement is altogether rendered needlessly tragicfd. In 
the conflict Cora is pierced to the heart by the knife of one of 
Magua's people. Uncas, the younger Mohican, revenges her fate 
in the blood of her murderer; and he himself, at the same moment, 
receives a mortal stab in the back from Magna, who &lls immediately 
afterwards in his flight by a shot from the rifle of Hawk-eye. 
Munro dies brdcen-nearted at the cruel fate of his elder child; 
Heyward and Alice are united ; and Hawk-eye, clinging to the last 
to his forest-life and his Indian friendship, remains the sole stay and 
solace of his red brother Chingachgook, the childless father of ^ the 
Last of the Mohicans.' 



Aet. in. Historical Researches on the Wars and Sports of the Mongols 
and Romans : in which Elephants and Wild Beasts were, employed or 
slain ; and the remarkable local Agreement of History with the Re- 
mains of such Animals found in Europe and Siberia. With a Map 
and Ten Plates. By John Ranking. 4to. pp.516. 3/. 8^. London. 
Longman and Co. 1826. 

Mb. Ranking, the author of the present work, is a gentleman 
engaged in commercial pursuits, vrho has been, as he carefully ^ 
infonns us, resident upwards of twenty years in Hindoostan and 
Russia, and having, as he thought, in that time Viad Te»i:&ow \i(^ 
doubt of the justness of the prevailing opinion conceTnMng\heTetaw»& 

K 2 



Rankin"'} Historical Researches. 



I torJH 



of elephants nnd other Inrge nnimols, inhitbitants of the t 
zone, found in high northern latitudes, and in parts of Europe iA ■ 
which they no longer exist, has, in the work before us, given the 
result of his enquiries to the fiuhlic. Mr. Ranking chiims not lo 
be regarded as a, learned character, any farther than as a man who ■ - 
has devoted to general reading the hours that he could spare from ,- 
business: he is no geologist, though he has undertaken to controvert ^ 
the opinions of Cuvier and other eminent naturalists : he is nnao 
quainted with the classical or Oriental languages ; and, to con* 
elude, this is his first literary attempt. Some allowance should, 
and we think will, be made for a person so situated, wtio at a con- 
siderable expense communicates knowledge which he deems of 
importance; and it is with feelings of pain that we express, our 
conviction that all these well-meant efforts have been made to DO 
purpose; for thetlieory of Cuvier will be no more affected by the 
quarto of Mr. Ranking, than the theory of Newton by the " Studies" 
of St Pierre. We could farther wish, even for liis own sake, 
that he had been sufficiently versed in book-craft to have known 
that everj' thing of any importance in his work might have been 
comprisetl in an octavo volume of no great bulk. 

The hypothesis of Mr. Ranking is briefly this: the Mongols, 
under Genghis Khan, Kublai, and Tamerlane, invaded and sub- 
dued the regions of Asia, of wliich the elephant is a native, and 
in their different expeditions in Siberia carried numbers of these 
animals with tiiem for warlike purposes, or for state and pomp, 
which elephants died, and consequently left their bones in that 
country; and as the name of mammoth is applied to them in - 
common with the walrus or morse by the Russians, a great deal " 
of confusion has thence arisen. With respect to the remains found * 
in Europe, Mr. Ranking regards them as merely the remains of ' 
beasts destroyed in the different amphitheatres established by the ' 
Komans throughout their empire, or of beasts which in ancient and ^ 
modern times have been led about and exhibited for shows. These ' 
opinions are not, and are not claimed to l)e, quite new and original : ' 
that very learned and able naturalist, the Tzar, Peter the Great, ' 
conjectured that some elephants' bones had been left on Alexander's ' 
expedition when he crossed the Don. Voltaire thought that the ^ 
tusks found in Siberia had been lost by traders ; and Leibnitz and ' 
LinuEeus are of opinion that the mammoth's horns might be morse- 
tusks, but they are differently composed. Marsigli supposed the 
fossil-remains tound in Europe were of those animals slain in the 
Roman games. Father Martini was of opinion that the fossil- 
bones found in Siberia were the remains of those animals employed 
by the Mongols in their wars with the Indians and Chinese ; and 
Camden says, " the bones of the abundance of elepliants which 
Claudius brought with him to England, being casually found, have 
given rise to several groundless stories," Tb\a, Kovjever, does 
not derogate from the merits of Mv. Kankmg, a\^^ wioie \\\au ft\t 



Rankings Historical Besearches. 1S3 

previous knowledge of Aristotle, Sir J. Stewart, and others, detract 
from the just &me of Mr. Malthus : he who follows out, clears, 
and explains a truth deserves the honour of the discovery. 

Two hundred and ninety-one pages contain the history of the 
wars and conquests of Kublai K}ian and of Tamerlane, mostly 
related in a style not^nlike that of the contents of chapters, as par 
txemplem 

* Genghis takes Campion, the capital of Tangut, and the countries of 
Crequir and Cuchin. He vanquishes the Merkites, by the river Irtish : 
he reduces the Kergis under his dominion. 

* Grenghis gives his daughter in marriage to the khan of the Yughurs. 
He invades China, entering by the great gate in the wall, and comes to 
action with the King, who loses thirty thousand men ; the Emperor 
loses a great many officers, and more soldiers than the Chinese. He 
makes peace, and obtains Cubcou Catune, the King's daughter, in mar- 
riage. Returns to Caracorum with the Princess, a tribute of gold, 
alky and five hundred young persons of each sex. Altan, King of 
China, leaves the government to his son, and retires to Nanking.'— 
pp. 19, 20. 

Our author proceeds to notice the Greek and Roman wars 
m which elephants were employed, then treats of Roman amphi- 
theatres as they exist throughout Europe, and of the sports and 
combats exhibited in them, and the remains of elephants and wild 
beasts found in France, Itsdy, and other countries. Next, in more 
than seventy pages, he sketches the history of Britain under the 
Romans, and notices the remains of elephants and wild beasts in 
England, Ireland, and Scotland, describes the living Asiatic and 
African elephants, the walrus, and narwal, and concludes with 
reflections on the rapid changes which the surface of the earth 
undergoes from floods, earthquakes, and other causes, and the 
erroneous opinions which have prevailed respecting giants, mam- 
moths, extinct species of quadrupeds, and spiral tusks. 

Such are the contents of Mr. Ranking's volume. We shall now 
proceed to ofier some remarks on a few of them. 

One of our author's distinguishing faults is a propensity to in-^ 
traduce matter that has nothing in the world to do with his subject. 
Thus we have a paragraph, in the introduction, about the Black 
Prince and the &mous battle of Crecy, merely for the sake of 
saying how much Tamerlane would have honoured the hero who 
slew ninety thousand men in one battle, a multitude which Mr* 
Ranking, who is fond of large numbers, prefers to the thirty-six 
thousand of Hume, on the authority of Mezeray, who, he in- 
forms us in a note, was ^ historiographer of. franco, with' a 
pension of four thousand livres,' a circumstance that doubtless 
augmented the diligence and fidelity of the writer ! Mr. Ranking is 
also not sufficiently carefiil in estimating the worth of his avxtVvox- 
ities. We find Ferdoussee the poet ranked as Wdi as the ^aN^%\. 
Ymtoriaas; and there is an undue deference paid to rAt.Tiow, viVvo^^ 

K 3 



Rankings Historical Researckrs. 



I 



History of Hindoostan is, we believe, not rated very highly by 
best qualified to judge. 

We will freely admit tliat our author has, in his first two hum 
and seventy puges, established the fact of the extensive domii 
of the Tartar Khans ; that diey conquered some of the elephant 
countries, and possessed great numbers of those animals ; and thst 
they carried on wars in Siberia, where they probably had some 
elephants, according to a passage from Dow, which Mr. Ranking 
thinks of infinite importance for establishing the fact of their 
being able to exist in fiigh latitudes. Still we think but little has 
been done towards accounting for the great quantity of fossil-reinains 
in that country. 

Every page we read we wish most earnestly dial Mr. Ranking 
had taken a few lessons iu the art of writing and of logic; for he 
is perpetually presenting us with something totally irrelevant to the 
object of the work, or with some instance of bad reasoning; and 
we flounder along through descriptions of capitals no longer ex* 
isting, bloody wars fi>r a white elephant, heroism of the Indian 
ladies, marches of Hannibal and Asdrubal over the Alps, wars in 
Britain, &c tilt we are tired, and almost forget what the book is 
about. Occasionally, however, our sense of seeing is gratified by 
a picture of Tamerlane, or a plate representing Kublai m a chariot 
drawn by elephants, a plan of the batde of Zama, and impression$ 
ofthe coins and medals of the ancient British kings, oroftlieRomani 
in Britain, for what purpose introduced it is needless to ask. 

After a chapter on amphitheatres, telling when they were and 
when they might have been, we are told, we know not on what 
authority, that the passion for amphitheatrical diversions was so 
general, that scarcely any camp or military station was without 
them, and that every savage animal that could be procured in the 
forests of Asia and Africa was brought to be hunted. Another 
piece of information rather new to us is the following ; 

' The chariots of the Romans were drawn by elephants : they had 
sometimes two, and sometimes four ; and frequently, when they had 
towers upon their backs, they at the same time drew one of those little 
chariots which were used for racing in the circus. These towers they 
generally put upon the backs of single elephants, both for warfare and 
travelling, as they do at this day in Persia and India. — 

' The Romans were drawn by camels ; and Pliny tells us tliat Mark 
Antony made use of lions. Heliogabalus did the same ; and also of 
boars, stags, wild asses, bieontes, and oryges, a sort of animal with one 
horn, which Ptolemy, according to Athenffius, drew his carriage with. • 

We certainly had no conception of such magnificence in the 
private life of the Romans. 

Gratian, we are told from Gibbon, enclosed large parks in Gaul 
(one was at Paris), all of them plentifully stocked with wild beasts, 



Bohkin^s Historical JResearches. I SS 

whare lie huntad and slew them. After this period, these expeu* 
sive amusements were probably discontinued as the Goths invaded 
die empire. And now what becomes of JVf. Cuvier's boasted dis- 
coveries in the Paris basin, and his classification? for the Romans 
daughtered hippopotamuses, rhinoceroses, elephants, turtles, zebras, 
litBe dragofiSi (probably, thinks our author, the plesiosaurus,} 
liyieiias, &c &c. 

* Besides this list of animals, named by the Romans as having been 
exhibited, remains of others not noticed, as far as these researches go, 
have been found, — the beaver, tapir, and mastodon (probably by the 
Romans called elephant) ; and they are known to have exhibited some 
animals, the bones of which have not been detected, as far as the writer's 
knowledge extends, — the camelopard, zebra, ostrich, — nor has there 
€?er occurred in this research a single instance of the mention of camels' 
bones being found, of which there must be vast numbers in Siberia, and 
some in Europe : this is a very remarkable fact, and may account for 
many bones, which have puzzled those who found them,, or have been 
supposed to belong to other large quadrupeds/ — pp. 354*, 335. 

That is, we are sure, a real poser for M. Cuvier, who has, in 
all probability, been palming camels and camelopard bones upon 
us for anoplotheria and palaeotheria. 

We were at first inclined to suppose that the works of Baron Cuvier 
were unknown to our author, but we soon discovered our mistake; 
for chapter the twelfth is devoted to accounting on the amphithea- 
trical hypothesis for the instances of fossil-remains adduced by that 
eminent naturalist Thus; If, says Cuvier, ever there was a fossil- 
elq)hant, which might be ccmsidered as one of Hannibal's^ it is that 
found two miles from the Trebia, and nine above Plaisance ; but as if 
to contradict these conjectures, the head of a rhinoceros was found 
near it. Ah, but says Mr. Banking, there was an amphitheatre a£ 
Placentia, and that the largest in Italy. The nine miles, we see, 
go for nothings The inmates of the Exeter Change are not, we 
apprehend, sent as far as Richmond for inhumation. 

At Bologna elephants' remains. True, but Bologna was a colony, 
and a municipium, and therefore hoA probably an amphitheatre. 

In Tuscany hippopotamus' and rhinoceros' bone, mixed. Florence 
was built by Sylia, and mtist have had an amphitheatre i so also 
must Pisa. 

AU the fossil-bones in Italy, Spain, and France, are^ accounted 
for by wars and amphitheatres; but the German examples are a little 
harder to manage. We shall give one instance of the mode of treat- 
ing these cases. 

* At' Osterode, a skeleton, with two bones of a rhinoceros. Near 
Steigerthal, (Hohenstein), four grinders (also an under jaw of a hyaena, 
and, at the distance of a league, some bones of a rhinoceros). Between 
Halle (in Saxony) and Querfurt, many elephants' bone&, some o^ v}\v\Ocv 
were found in a quarry of hard stone, apparently in a cVeft. V," ietv\,^'^• 
At CasseJ,. and several places in Hesse,, elephants' bonea •. aV. ^o^et^- 

K 4f 



^HtS6 Rankings Historical Researches- 

bausen, elepliants' bones much calciDed. At Potsdatn, elephants' bn 
near Magdeburg, elephants' bones. 

' In Bohemia, some elephants' bones in several pbc 
' Nofe. — Marcus Aurelius waged war in person for about tliree yi 
together against many nations who had confederated. The Empein 
person, and the principal oHicerE, inarched at the head of the troe^ 
this war was very obstinate, and many of the nobility were killed^ 
p. 346. 

No Roman army, It would seem, ever marched without its a 
dramatique of elephants, hippopotami, hyaanas, and other perfora 
of the same nature, just as the French troops under the great S 
always had a corps of comedians attached. As to historians saying 
nothing about this military regulation, it gives our theorist very 
httle concern ; the matter wag so common, that no one would ever 
have dreamt of recording it. 

Some years ago we were all very much interested by Professor , 
Buckland's account of the immense quantity of fossil-remains found _ 
in a cavern at Kirkdale, and we acquiesced very willingly in the idea 
of our island having been in former ages the abode of hysenas, ele- _ 
phants, tigers, and other animals no longer to be found in it. But ^ 
there was no necessity for believing any such thing. Kirkdale b ^ 
but twenty-three miles from York, ' which was the Roman capital ^ 
of Britain for above three hundred years, and the head-cjuarters of ^ 
the Roman empire for above three years,' And ' in Spartiac's life ^ 
of Severus we read, that when he was in Egypt he was much - 
pleased with his voyage, because of the singidar strangeness of the ^ 
animals and places which he saw, Therefore, nothing is more pn^ 
bable than that he possessed hippopotami, rhinoceroses, crocodiles, 
and hysenas, all of which are natives of Egypt, and have been found 
at Kirkdale and Whitby in a fossil-state,' 

What a glorious appearance Severus must have made with his ' 
cortege of wild beasts, and what splendid shows Eboracum must ' 
have enjoyed in those days, before which the York races and festival 
shrink into insignificance. At all events, Professor Buckland's fine " 
theory is completely overturned. 

At Walton, five miles from Harwich, bones of the elephant, sta^ ' 
&c. have been found. — Harwich is the port leading to the Roman ' 
colony of Camelodunum, where Claudius encamped with three le- ' 
gions, replies Mr, Ranking. Our readers will learn with surprise, a ' 
few lines farther, that this visit of Claudius, which is supposed to ' 
have contributed so much to the introduction of the hysna and ele- ' 
phant bones into Britain, lasted but sixteen days, and that it is not 
probable that there were exhibitions during that short period. Yet 
we are frequently referred to this expedition of Claudius, who toge- 
ther with Severus, that was so fond of strange wild beasts, and JuKus 
Csesar, who, Polyanus tells us, though the celebrated commentator 
says nothing of it himseltj employed an elephai\t against the Britons, 
are represented as the chief suppliers of ihe tooWvj -NvOn fe«sir ■ 
remains. 



Bankings Historical Researches. 157 

In Dublin, in I68I9 an elephant was accidentally burnt to 
death. Any remains, therefore, found in Ireland need give us 
no great concern. At Magherry, near Belturbet, in the county 
of Qivan, four fossil-grinders of an elephant were found. ^ It is 
not improbable,' says our author, ' that these teeth may have be- 
longed to an exhibited elephant, nor is it impossible that they 
should be of Roman origin. Ptolemy has given a better map of 
Ireland than of Scotland; and the Romans had garrisons and 
settlements on the coast of Britain opposite to Ireland for upwards 
of three hundred years.* We may therefore infer, that the Politos 
and Howes of those days, who were attached to the Roman legions, 
used occasionally to make trips over to the polished region oppo- 
site^ and exhibit these strange beasts to the nobility and gentry, 
who crowded to its rich and flourishing cities and towns ! 

The fossil-remains in Scotland are satisfactorily accounted for by 
die remark, that Forfarshire was the scene of Agricola's fame ; that 
the forts of Agricola and the rampart of Antoninus were on the very 
road on which some of these remains were found ; that as they were 
garrisoned for a number of years, it is fair to presume they were sup- 
plied, like other Roman stations, with the usual amusements ; and 
that die mention of such trivial circumstances as wild beasts accom- 
panying the camps and armies was beneath the dignity of such his- 
torians as have been preserved to the present day. It is not at all 
improbable, it is added, that some animals may have been exhibited 
m Caledonia, for the entertainment, we suppose, of the Attacotti, 
those epicures, who, our author informs us from St. Jerom, were so 
fond of rump-steaks cut from the shepherdesses' buttocks. 

Our readers are, we suppose, now perfectly well able to account 
for all the bones found in Europe : they belonged to animals that 
were either slain in the amphitheatres, one of which was, though 
historians say nothing of it, attached to every Roman camp, or they 
were killed or died in wars, or they were exhibited for the profit of 
their owners, to the natives of Ireland, Scotland, Germany, and 
other such polished regions. The immense quantities found in 
Russia and Siberia are accounted for much in the same way, witli the 
aid, however, of the morse, which we find has been imposed upon 
Pallas and Cuvier for an elephant. We shall just give one instance. 

' The greatest quantity is found on the islands between the mouths 
of the Lena and Indigerska. The nearest island is thirty-six leagues in 
length. The whole island (it has often been repeated) is formed of 
mammoths' bones, with horns and skulls of bufialoes, or some animal 
which resembles them, and some rhinoceroses' horns. Another island, 
five leagues farther, and twelve leagues long, furnishes the 'same bones 
and teeth. — Cuvier, ]51. According to Pallas, there is scarce! v a river, 
•iT<Mn the Don to the Tschutskoi Nos, in the banks of which the bones 
are not abundant^ And the two islands at the mouth of the Indigerska 
seem entirely composed of these bones, and those of tlie eW, t\C\xiqc^\q!&, 
and other large quadrupeds, — Rees's Addenda. ** MaxnmoXVir 



1 38 RanHng'i liist^trkal Researches. 

' Note. — Tlicse are the paragraplis and allusions wbich hate fi 
tfae world with astonishment ; and history, geology, and natural hisA 
with marvellous perplexity and conjecture. Instead of clephaM 
rhinoceroses, elks, and buffaloes of foreign regions having furnished tl 
heaps of bones, it will be seen that they are remains of native aniq 
of toe places where they are found. The elephants and rhiaocerol 
which have been found in Siberia, have caused the confusion, ifl 
mammoths are walruses: to prove which, the reader is referred^ 
Strahleuberg, p. 402.; Muscnkin Puachkin in Pire Avril's Trafl! 
p. 176.; ai>d to this vol. chap.xvi.' — pp. 244, 2*5.] 

As to the mammoth found at the mouth of the Lena, Mr. Sai 
king would appear to consider him as having belonged to one of the'. 
Tartar conquerors : the quantity of hair on him is naturally ao- ■ 
counted for by the change of climate and change of diet; for *tfae ' 
green winter-food of a northern climate must be extremely warm ■ 
and stimulating.' 

Mr. Ranking can swallow any thing, no matter how incredibl* . 
The following extract, says he, is from the Baron Cuvier's great work, 
and it is more interestina and diverting from these mammoths having j. 
been seen alive on the plauis in the year 1 S7 1 . He then gives a long 
extract, of which the following paragraphs only are to our purpoee. 

' Un autre ^crivain cite par celui li, s'esprirae ainsi, " Le tyn-schu '■ 

ne se tient que dans des endroits obscurs et non-frequent^s. 11 meurt . 

si tot qu'il voit les rayons du soleil ou de la lune : ses pieds soot courts ' 

^ proportion de sa taiUe, ce qui fait qu'il marche maJ. Sa queue est ;, 

longue d'une aune Chinoise. Ses yeux sont petits et son cou courbe, i^ 
11 est fort stupide et paresseux. 

' " Lors d'une inondaihn aux environs du fleuve Tan-schuann-tuy (en ' 

I'annee 1571), i^ le mo«(ru benucoup de iyn-schu dam la plains, ils He f 
nourissoient des racines de !a plante fu-kia." ' — p. 466. 

Surely no one but Mr. Ranking would have Iwlieved this wild [ 
Chinese tale of a mole as big as an elephant; and is it possible he 
could have thought that Cuvier credited it ? 

Among the rest of the new and important information to be de- 
rived from the present work is, that our great epic poet, when draw- 
ing his character of Satan, did not, as is generally supposed, turn 
his eye to the extraordinary man of his own day, or to the Prome- 
theus of .^schylus ; for his model, we now find, was the redoubted 
Timur. ' It appears highly probable, that Milton has taken 
Timur in some instances as his prototype for Satan. The allu- 
sions to Timur and Cyrus, in the Paracfise Lost, are numerous.' 
Nothing is more easy than to point out imitations and plagiarisms, 
for, unfortunately, we all relate the same or similar things in pret^ 
nearly the same way; but we fancy Milton could have written the 
tbllowing fine lines wittiout having read an account of Timur's 
reviewing his troops, in which account we can perceive nothing very 
uncommon or different from other reviews : 



THe Flmrete Sanduaiy. 199 

^ Tea thonMOid baiiners rise into the air, 
With orient cdoun waying : with them rose 
A tbre$t huge of spears ; and thronging helms 
Appeared, and serried shields in thick array, 
Otdepdi immeasurable. • • • • 
Advaooed in view, they stand a horrid front 
Of dreadfullength and dazelingarms, * * 
Awaiting what commands their mighty chief 
Had to mtpose. He through the armed files 
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 
The whde battalion, views their order due, 
Tbdr visages and stature. • • • • 
• ♦ ' • • • ^jiii QQ^ liis heart 

JQiatends with pride.'' Book 1. 

When bis youngest son, Mehemet, asked the honour of com- 
manding the scouts, Timur aj^roved his zeal, but remmded him 
flat he bad need of great presence of mind, &c. in an employ 
oil which the safety of the whole army depended. Hence Milton ; 

— " Here he had need 
An circumspection, and we now no less 
Choice in our su&age, for on whom we send, 
The weight of all and our last hope relies." Book 2. 

This, we apprehend, is quite enough. Milton, who knew all 
history, was certainly not unacquainted with that of Timur. But 
what resemblance is there between Timur and Satan ? 

We. will now dbmiss Mr. Ranking, with expressing our wish 
that he had never written ; for his book is, we conceive, perfectly 
useless, and the theory of Cuvier, against which it is evidently di- 
rected, is as little affected by it as a bold and gigantic promontory 
is by the dash of a single wave. No wars, no sports, not all that 
ever were, will account tor the single instance of the cave at Kirk- 
dale ; and the histories of tlie Monguls, and of the Romans in Bri« 
tain, we Imow as well from other and better books. 



Art. IV. The Forest Sanctuary ; and other Poems. By Mrs. He* 
mans. 8vo. pp.205. ls.6d. London. Murray. 1826. 

1 HE scene of ^ The Forest Sanctuary' is laid amid the wilds of 
North America, not many years after that continent was discovered. 
An article written some time since in the Quarterly Review on Mr. 
Qnin's " Visit to Spain," and generally attributed to the Rev. 
Blanco White, seems to have suggested to Mrs. Hemans whatever 
of incident or story there is in her production. In that paper, Mr. 
V(^hite, who, since his ai^rival in England, has distinguisbed \:d\AS&\£ 
by making one half of his life a satire on the x)theT, and Xiie viVvc^fe 
of/t, so &r as it has hitherto gone, a satire on Viis couivXrj, exi\ft\% 



140 Tite Forest Sanciuaty. 

into an ingenious discourse upon the Spanish Inquisition, and a 
tions the fate of Gonzalez and his sisters, Tliis short episode 11 
Hemans has endeavoured to extend into a poem, and it is fl 
great regret we are bound to say tliat she has fallen very far a) 
of that success which we would have wished her to attain. 

She has been unfortunate in the selection of her subject, a 
possible, still more unlucky in the choice of her scene. Her fa 
a Spaniard, is supposed to have Hed from his country in thefl 
teenth century, in order to avoid the terror of the Inquisition^ 
which he had indiscreetly exposed himself. He escapes fron 
dungeon with his wife and child, on board of a vessel bound ^ 
South America. His wife diss on the voyage, and he and his son afl 
wandering some time amongst the Andes, where he again tremtW" 
at ' the tyranny of Spain,' proceed to North America, and findf'' 
refiige in the woods which Mrs. Hemans rather affectedly nan 
' The Forest Sanctuary,' It would be presumptuous to deny d 
such a groundwork as this, destitute as it apparently is of the sot 
of those high and contending emotions in which poetry ddi{_ 
might not be filled up by the hand of genius with combinations 4 
the most engaging description. But it is invidious to conjectd^ 
what might have been done by other writers. It is sufficient ibr* 
at present to know, that Mrs. Hemans found her theme almoBi ^^ 
wholly devoid of interest, and that by her mode of treating it sheiip^ 
has rather weakened than improved the little which it did possess. i\-^ 

The scene too, — America, — has by no means assisted her poetical'iK 
inspirations. We scarcely know whyit is, but the New World seems, *« 
as yet, to have been fatal to most of our writers who have made it "^^ 
the theme of their minstrelsy. It is not, perhaps, that they are al- '** 
together ignorant of tlie localities, for the author of that hapless tale 'i^ 
of Paraguay cannot be supposed unacquainted with a country into ^ 
which he has more than once adventured, both as a historian and a ^' 
fabulist. Masses of wood, gigantic mountains, rivers, and lakei^ '•" 
are not, however, of themselves sufficient to call forth the diviner * 
mind of poetry. They are indeed among the favourite haunts of .J 
the muse, but it would seem that in order to attract her peculiar ^ 
favour, they must have been time out of mind crowned with tem- ^ 
pies sacred to her name, and ]>eopled with her worshippers. The 
bonks of the Avon are " beautiful in song," not because nature has , 
been propitious to them, but because they are associated with the ( 
name of Shakspeare. 'ITie traveller is wrapt in enthusiasm among \^ 
the hills, and streams, and promontories of Greece, not so much on \ 
account of their appearance as pieces of exquisite scenery, but be- \ 
cause they remind him of the poets, the sages, and the heroes, who ' 
have by their verse, eloquence, and bravery, rendered the leading 
features of their country so many monuments of their glory. Ame- 
rica is not old enough as yet, she has no mysteries, no associations 
Ar attractive fiction. Man and his works, bis sufferings, and his 



2%e Forest SanOmry. 141 

IfpoKH^ cm Blc»e bestow on rude or cultivated nature that mag^ 
iBtic power which will always command the sympathies of his 
bkL 

Kis. Hemans must have felt throughout her work the want of 
It duum, for we know of none of her productions that bear so 
wj tokens of the lamp as * The Forest Sanctuary/ The stanzas 
! m the l^>enserian measure, but how unlike the flowing melody 
tbose upon whose model they are founded I We shall give but 
nr examples, and these shall be by no means the least favourable 
omens of the whole. The poem thus opens : 

' The voices of my borne ! — I hear them still ! 
They have been with me through the dreamy night — 
The blessed household voices, wont to fill 
My heart's dear depths with unalloy'd delight ! 
I hear them still unchang'd : -^ though some from earth 
Are music parted, and the tones of mirth — 
Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright ! 
Have died in others,— yet to me they come, 
Singing of boyhood back -— the voices of my home ! 

' lliey call me through this hush of woods, reposing 
In the grey stillness of the summer mom. 
They wander by, when heavy flowers are closing, 
And thoughts grow deep, and winds and stars are born ; 
Ev'n as a fount s remember'd gushings burst 
On the parch'd traveller in his hour of thirst, 
E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn 
By quenchless longings, to my soul I say — 

Oh f ror the dove's swift wings, that I might flee away, 

' And find mine ark ! — yet whither ? -— I must bear 

A yearning heart within me to the grave. 

I am of those o'er whom a breath of air — * 

Just darkening in its course the lake's bright wave. 

And sighing through the feathery canes — hath power 

To call up shadows, in the silent hour. 

From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave !— 

So must it be! — These skies above me spread. 
Are they my own soft skies ? — Ye rest not here, my dead ! 

* Ye far amidst the southern flowers lie sleeping. 
Your graves all smiling in the sunshine clear, 
Save one ! — ^ a blue, lone, distant main is sweeping 
High o'er one gentle head — ye rest not here ! — 
'Tis not the olive, with a whisper swaying, 
Not thy low riplings, glassy water, playmg 
Through my own chesnut groves, wnicn fill mine ear ; 
But the faint echoes in my breast that dwell. 

And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell.' 

pp. S — 5- 

Irs. Hemans has avowed her obligations for the beautiful 
\gbtt in the last couplet to Mr. Wordsworth's exquisvXft di^crv^ 



The Forest Sanctuary. 

don in his Excursion of a boy on the beach listening to the mpOB 
murmur of a sea-shell : 



I 



" his very soul 

Listen'd intently, and his countenance soon 
Brighien'd with joy ; for murmurings from within 
Were heard — sonorous cadences ! whereby, 
To his belief, the monitor express'd 
Mysterious union with tts native sea. 
— Even such a shell the universe itself 
Is to the ear of Faith." 



It will be perceived, that Mrs, Hemans makes a diiFerent use of 
the image from Mr. Wordsworth, yet it is in itself perhaps equally 
felicitous. The lines from the Excursion would furnish an admir- 
able subject for tlie pencil. 

After these reflections, the hero (he has no name) enters into 
a narrative of the tragic scene which was enacted by the Inquisi- 
tion, and as his child is too young to be interested in such a story, 
he repeats it to the ' ear of the desert,' which could hardly fail rf 
being a patient hstener. The whole of this nanative, which em- 
braces the greater portion of the poem, is exceedingly elaborate and 
unimpressive. We have no desire to characterise the verse of Mrs, 
Hemans generally. But we cannot refrain fi-om observing that her 
style of composition, in this work at least, is cold, disconnected, 
harsh, and arid. It wears the form of poetry ; the syllables are 
duly measured ; the words placed generaUy in proper order, and 
there is no want of precision. But the lines, taken together, have 
no power to animate the reader. Here and there an expression 
sparkles, and promises a higher strain, but promises only to delude. 
The rhymes are too often forced, so much so, that ideas which 
have no sort of natural link between them are brought into com- 
panionship, solely for the sake of filling out the stanza. There is 
none of that flush of inspiration upon her page, none of that unction 
of impetuous eloquence, which indicates the presence of the muse. 
What is there but the rhyme, and that too of no very peculiar 
merit, to distinguish the following stanza from very humble prose ? 

' But a lance met me in that day's career, 

k Senseless I lay amidst th' o'ersweeping tight. 

Wakening at last — how full, how strangely clear, 
That scene on memory Hash'd ! — the shivery light, 
Moonlight, on broken shields — ike plain of daughter. 
The fountain-side — the lov) sweet sound of water — 
And Alva bending o'er me — from the night 
Covering me with his mantle ! — all the past 
Flovj'd back — my sours Jar chords all ansvier'd lo the blast,' p, 17- 

It may be presumed that if we had not the word ' past,' in the 
penultimate line, we should not have heard a s^Uahleof the ' soul's far 
chords all answering to the blast,' the meanVt^s o^ -«^m:V, 'WftTOaaN, 



The Forest Sanctuary. 145 

own, we have fioiund- it imposrible to comprehencL The following 
is in better style, though inconsistent with the character of the hero, 
who is supposed to look with as much abomination as the Rev. 
Blanco White himself on the established religion of Spain : 

' Sounds of triumphant praise ! — the mass was sung — - 

— Voices that die not might have pour'd such strains ! 
Thro' Salem's towers might that proud chant have rung. 
When the Most High, on S3rria'8 palmy plains, 
Had queird her foes !— -so full it swept, a sea 
Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free ! 

— Oft when the wind, as thro' resounding fanes. 
Hath fill'd the choral forests with its power. 

Some deep tone brings me back the music of that hour.' p. 27* 

This solemnity, too, formed part of that bloody ceremony which 
the hero witnessed with so much horror, and from which he after- 
wards fled, as indeed well he might have fled ft'om such an unholy 

\ exhibition, like one half distracted. The stanza which we have 

[ just cited is the only one out of at least fifty which are occupied' 
with the auto-da^ej worthy of favourable notice. Mrs. Hemans 
has here indulged herself after the example of Mr. Southey, with 

i pouring forth a great deal of those meditative efiusions on sacred 
subjects, which, to say the least of them, are very much out of 
place in compositions of this description. True piety, whatever 
be its source, is always best seen or heard of in action, or in the 

, influence by which it subdues the passions, and directs the natural 
benevolence of the heart. We have no taste for the commixture 
of sacred writ with that sort of poetry which is or ought to be in- 
tended for the amusement of cultivated minds. But we return 
with our hero to a more agreeable theme. 

^ I sought my home again : — and thou, my child. 
There at thy play beneath yon ancient pme. 
With eyes, whose lightning laughter hath beguil'd 
A thousand pangs, thence flashmg joy to mine ; 
Thou in thy mother's arms, a babe, cudst meet 
My coming with young smiles, which yet, though sweet, 
Seem'd on my soul all mournfully to shine, 
And ask a happier heritage for thee. 

Than but in turn the blight of human hope to see. 

f Now sport, for thou art free — the bright birds chasing. 
Whose wings waft star-like gleams from tree to tree ; 
Or with the fawn, thy swift wood-playmate racing, 
Sport on, my joyous child ! for thou art ft'ee ! 
Yes, on that day I took thee to my heart. 
And inly vow'd, for tliee a better part 
To choose ; that so thy sunny bursts of glee 
Should wfdke no more dim thoughts of far-seen woe, 

But, gladdening fearless eyes, 6ow on— as now tlvey &o\<f. 



1 

pp. is, 49. 



T/te Fotest Sawtuaty^ 

' Thou hast a rich world roun(ltIiea:--tMigIiliVjriiadi»< : 
Wieftyiag.tiieic gorgooua tracery o'er lliy hfsaa. 
With the Hg]u Dieiting tbrough their high arcades, 
As through a itillar'J cloister's : but the dead 
Sleep not beneath ; nur doth the suubeam pass 
To marble shrines through rainbow-tinted glass ; 
Yet thou, by fount and forest -murmur led ' 

To worship,' thou art blcjt ! — to thee is shown 

Earth in her holy pomp, deck'd for ber God alone.' 

At home he remained but a little lime, whea he incuiTed ihe sus- 
Ipicions of the Inquisition, and was conveyed to a dungeon. We 
\ Bhall close onr extracts from this poein with the description of the 
"igitive's feelings immediately after he effected his escape from im- 
f pnsonraent. It is without comparison the most powerftil, we had 
tfllmost said the only powerful, passage of the whole composition. 
K We quote it cheermlly ; and it would have afibrded us gratification 
Klf we could have discovered any other lines in the ' second part' of 
I'&is production worthy of a similar distinction. 

' — -■■ I had gain'd 
The covert's heart with swift and stealthy tread : 
A moan went past me, and the dark trees rain'd 
Their autumn foliage rustling on my head; 
A moan — a hollow gust — and there I stood 
Girt with majestic night, and ancient wood. 
And foaming water. — "Thither might have fled 
The mountain Christian with his faith of yore. 
When Afric's tambour shook the ringing western shore ! 

' But through the black ravine the storm came swelling -^ 
Mighty thou art amidst the hills, thou blast I 
In thy tone course the kingly cedars felling. 
Like plumes upon the path of battle cast 1 
A rent oak thunder'd down beside my cave — 
Booming it rush'd, as booms a deep sea-wave ; 
A falcon soar'd ; a startled wild-deer pass'd ; 
A far-off bell toll'd faintly through the roar— . 

How my glad spirit swept forth with the winds once more ! 

' And with tlie arrowy lightnings ! — for they flasli'tl, \ 

Saiiting the branches in their iitful play. 
And brightly shivering where the torrents dash'd 
Up, evep to crag and eagle's nest, their spray ! 
And there to stand amidst the pealing strife. 
The strong pines groaning with tempestuous life. 
And aH "the mountain- voices on their way, — 
Was it not joy ? — 'twas joy in rushing migiit. 

After those years that wove but one long dead of m'ght ! 

• There came a softer hour, a lovelier moon, 
And lit me to my home of youth again. 
Through t(ie dim chesnut shade, where oft at noon, 
liy the itfunt's flashing burst, my head had lain. 




7BU Eot^ S^imimuy. 14f^ 

Ia gentle ileqp » Inn noir I pasi'd M oae * 
That miypiot jgmme where wood-rtreami wliiq>iriog nuiy 
Or light wrays trenUe to a bird's wild stfain. 
Because tne atimger's vcHce is in the wind. 
The foe's quid: ruswDg step close on the leaves behind. 

' My home of youth ! — oh ! if indeed to part 
With the soul s lov'd ones be a mournful thing, 
When we go forth in buojraneyr of heart, 
^d bearing all the glories or our spring 
For life to breathe on,<»is it less to meet, 
Wh«a these are faded ? — - who shall call it sweet ? 
•-- Even though love's mingling tears may haply bring 
Balm as they fall, too well their heavy showers 
Teach us how much is lost of all that once was ours ! 

' ^ Not by the sunshine, with its golden glow, 
Nor the green earth, nor yet the lau^iing sky, 
Nor the mint flower-scents, as they come and go 
In the soft air, like music wandering by ; 

— Oh ! not by these, th' unfailing, are we taught 
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought, 
But by the sadden'd eye, the darkened brow, 

Of kindred aspects, and the long dim gaze, 
Which tells us tt^ are chang'd,«— how changed fh>m other days ! 

' Before my father •» in my place of birth, 
I stood an alien. On the very floor 
Which oft had trembled to my boyish mirth. 
The love that rear'd me, knew my face no more ! 
There hung the antique armour, helm and crest. 
Whose every stain woke chUdhood in my breast. 
There droop'd the banner, with the marks it bore 
Of Paynim spears ; and I, the worn in frame 

And heart, what there was I ? — another and the same ! 

' Ihen bounded in a boy, with clear dark eye — 
— Hbw should he know his father ? — when we* parted. 
From the soft cloud which mantles infancy. 
His soul, just wakening into wonder, darted 
Its first looks round. Him follow'd one, the bride 
Of my young days, the wife how lov'd and tried ! 
Her glance met mine — I could not speak — she started 
\^th a bewilder'd gaze ; — until there came 

Tears to my burning eyes, and from my lips her name. 

' She knew me then !— I murmur'd ** LeonorT 
And her heiprt answer'd ! -^ Oh 1 the voice is known 
First from dl else, and swiftest to restore 
Love's buried images with one low tone, 
That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded, 
And the brow heavily with.chought o'ershaded. 
And all the brightness from the aspect gone ! 

— Upon my breast she sunk, mhm doubt was fte&f 
Yfeepiag as tbote may weep, that nieel in ¥roe and dxe^« 



Godwin's Histot^ cf the CommoTOoeaUh. 

• For there we might not rest. Alas ! to leave 
Those native towers, and know tliat thej must fall 
By Blow decay, and none remain to grieve 
When the weed* cluster'd on the lonely wall I 
We were the last — my boy and I — the last 
Of a long line 
V father blea 



I 



I 

^^^■^ My father Uless'd me as 1 lelt Ins ball — 

^^^B* — ^With his deep tones and sweet, tho' full of years, 

^^^^V He bless'd me there, and bath'd my child's young head with tea>¥.' 

^^W pp. 60—65. 

^^^^r'We have already told the rest, Leonora perished on the voyage, 
and the father and child found, after various wanderings, a ' sanc- 
tuary in the forest.' Of the minor compositions at the end of the 
volume, we are disposed to think very favourably. In truth, Mrs. 
Hemans is likely to be more successlul in a short poem, for wliich 
a single hint and a few happy thoughts are sufficient, than in a 
longer work, which requires a prolific invention, and an ardent, ad- 
venturous, lofty imagination. 



Art. V. History of the Commomoealth of England, from its Commence- 
ment to the Heatoration of Charles the Second. By William God- 
win. Vol.11. 8vo. pp.696. London. Colburn. 1826. 

It is about two years since the first volume of Mr. Godwin's His- 
tory of the Commonwealth of Kngland was reviewed in the pages 
of this Journal * ; and in now taking up the continuation of his 
labours, after so considerable an interval of time, we have been 
careful to subject tliem anew, in this second volume, to a distintX 
and dispassionate judgment. But after diligently examining the 
progress of the work, we can wily confirm and extend the strictures 
passed by our predecessors upon the earlier portion. A recurrence 
to their opinion has left us something to add, but nothing to reverse 
or to mo<Iiiy; and we find Mr. Gtodwin's second volume compiled 
with exactly the same overweening pretensions, and the same mis- 
taken estimate of the value and novelty of his undertaking, which 
were justly lemarked in the first. That he still fencifiiUy and per- 
tinaciously imagines it reserved for himself to rescue the history of 
the Commonwealth and the chaiacter of its leaders from oblivion 
and calumny is evident in various ways. Such are the repeated 
boasts of his motto, — " to attend to the neglected, anti to remember 
the forgotten," — his contem)«nous and sweeping depreciation at 
historians ns a body, — and nis total omission to notice with ap- 
plause the productions of writers who haveanticipated him onliis own 
side of the political question, with the benefit of precisely the same 
ijnaterials to work upon, and with at least an equal measure of 



.GbAwi'i jySiBtary cf the OammmuaUk. 14T 

9iS6tf9 industry, and seal. Among these need be instanted only 
Mrs. M acauley inthelastoentuTy, and Mr. Brodiein ourown times: 
!— to say nothing of the masterly and philosophical though rapid 
view of the great featmres and princq)les of the contest oetween 
Charles L and the Parliament, which was prefixed by Mr. Fox to 
his life of James II. 

In the first portion of his work, Mr. Godwin was pleased to pro- 
claim to the world his indifferent opinion of ^ the careless and imi* 
isAve set of men that we call historians.' Therein he proceeded 
DO fiuther than to exhibit his complacent conviction of his own 
sif)oriority ovw all that despised and vituperated race. But his 
second volume has, it seems, a higher object than this : it is replete 
with profound and original remarks upon the province and true 
bnsiiiess of history itse^ which are evidently intended for the im- 
provement of so neg^bcted a science, and the edification and correo- 
tioD of its unworthy professors. Thus, we are for the first time 
instructed, that (p. ?•) ^ the historian treats of facts, not fictions ;' 




Id bun fer a hint fbr which his own work may sufficiently affi>rd 
some practical exercise, that (p. 529.) ^ it is not unworthy of notice 
p remark -the style in which history is written by party men.' 
From these and similar new and important discovenes some indi- 
fidnal of more leisure than we possess may extract fit>m Mr. God- 
Win's pages a whole code of maxims and precepts for the better 
writing ^history in fiiture: but lest, after all, the gleaner should 
be diqKMed to estimate too highly the value of the instruction which 
lie mm thus collect firom the perfection of the science, let him learn 
from mis gteat authority how vain and impotent are its best con- 
ohsiaiis: 

* It is thus that history is obliged to grope its wa^, in treating of the 
toast cond^ettible events. We put togettier seemings, and draw our 
InfereQces as well as we may. Contemporaries who employ themselves 
in preserving facts are sure to omit some of the most material, upon 
die preauoiption of their notbriety, and that they are what every body 
^kaowB. History in some of its most essential members dies, even as 
geaemtioDS of men pass off the stage, and the men who were occupied 
m ^ busy scene become victims of mortality. If we could call Mp 
Cromwel from the dead, nay, if we could call up some one of the 
compatnEUtively insignificant actors in the time of which we are treating, 
and were allowed the opportunity of proposing to him the proper ques- 
tions, how many doubts would be cleared up, how many perplexing 
'matters would be unravelled, and what a multitude of interesting 
anecdotes would be revealed to the eyes of posterity ! But History 
comes like a be^;arly gleaner in the field, after Death, the great lord 
of the domain, has gathered the crop with his mighty baaui) ^iXvdiXod^^ 
it in his garner^ whScb no man can open.' — pp. 29) 30* 

L 2 



Godwiu's History of thi Commoivxealth. 



vkmM 



TUis is sad common-place trifling, and quite nnwoithyof a»e*liW 
writer like Mr. Godwin of much acknowledged ability and ib^4MM& 
acquirements. But this idle and pompous repetition of tnjiins 
is not the only peculiarity of hts manner. He has formally recorded 
his universal contempt of the spirit in which history has usuatty 
been composed ; but his own elevated conceptions of tlie dignity 
of the historical style he has left us to infer only Irom the exam}^ 
of his pages. The conclusion might safely be rested on a singlt 
such passage as the following notable illustration of the art of 
sinking: 

' From the scene of tliese momentous changes, and these heroic pro- 
ceedings, it is not unnatural to look back to John Lilburne. While all 
this was doing, he sat in his comer, and could think of nothing but t&e 
impropriety of answering interrogatories. Such is the true picture of a 
vulgar patriot — narrow of comprehension, impassioned, stiff in opinion 

— seeing nothing but what he can discern through one small wiDdow, 
and sitting ut u distance from that — so that the entire field of his ob- 
servation, his universe, in the wide landscape of the world, and (he 
immense city of mankind, with all its lanes, its alleys, its streets, and its 
squares, is twelve inches bif twelveJ — pp. 43, 44. 

But the bathos is yet more conspicuous in the elaborated abBiir<k 
dity of passages hke this : 

' There have been men, who could see every thing, and from whom 
no secret of the human iieart has been hid, to whom the faculty of ei- 
citing sympathy has been denied, who could not emit a spark from their 
own bosoms, that should light up a kindred hre in the breasts of othertf, 
who could not utter a sound which should instantly string the nerves, and 
brace the arm of every one whose assistance they desired. Such per- 
sons live, as it were, in a field of dead men's bones : the light of heavep 
is upon every object around them : nothing escapes their observation! 

— but all this is to no purpose : they do not possess the tronscendant 
power of saying to those dry bones. Live.', — p. 408. 

In truth it would be difficult to say whether Mr. Godwin's s^le 
is most remarkable for the absurd and overstrained application, «" 
for the confusion and vulgarity of his metaphors. Thus, for es- 
amples of mixed metaphor: (p. 75.) ' the elected are the heart, 
the electors the body politic, and the circulation between the 
one and the other should he free as air.' Again, {p. 63S.) Hollis 
and others are introduced, * resolving to embark their character in 
this bottom, and to set up a standard, &c. to which all might resort.* 
And in another place we are affectedly told, that ' Cromwel used 
in the erection of his editice whatever natural appeared most ppo- 
mising; but the plan, or ichnography, by which he proceeded) the 
constitution of a commonwealth, appears to have been alwj^a die 
same.' Among vulgar and colloquial images, we hear (p. 140.) *i*f 
slitting hairs ;' of the real objects of certain patriots being (p. SOS.) 
* the loaves and fisJies ;' and of feavmg to k\"av«\\. ¥tow U\e ■ ita- 



Oothehes Hiskny of the Ommitaieam. 149 

|tri«^^ftditf[!^) JCBl (p«2SlO we should < break our nedosl by 

ixMlP^GfAiAals use of simple erpresnons is often as inaccurate as 
bibWiOpkai images are bully. Thus we have to fight perpetually 
^Mfd^^ in^-ftr-tranaidTe sense, as ' to fight one party, against 
fMlii^/i^<pp. 8i. 226^ 816, &c.) Again we hear (p. 80.) of bring* 
iifTft^^watanny into the field ; meaning, we presume, a sufficient 
ttiV^^aod of the Scotch obejring a summons ^promptfy, though 
l9DiewlHit.of the latest! Nor has Mr. Godwin's language always even 
the poor merit of being grammatical. Thus of Cromwell (p. 520.) : 
* He left the metropous entrusted with an important command ; 
bat if he were not successful in his enterprise, he would probably 
never have seen [never see] London more, unless as a state-pn- 
soner/ . Sometimes we really are at a loss to comprehend the meant 
k^of passages: as when, (p. 272.) in recording some vote hostile 
to Gromwel and the Independents, Mr. Godwin finds it a ^ somer 
fAat singular coincidence (why?) that just at this period Ireton 
inarried the eldest dan^ter of Cromwel f or when he comments 
(p. SOI.) in the following sublimated nonsense, on the submission 
of Cromwel to Ireton's patriotic influence : ^ This stooping of a 
miad of the hiohest class to another which, in magnitude of spirit, 
could scarcely be said to equal his own, and which yet is worthily 
submitted to, is one of the most beautiful spectacles that this glol>e 
iX earth has to offer.' 

. HiXK fue all these the only weak points in Mr. Godwin's manner 
ef:eonq[ioaition. This second volume bears marks of more hastv 
iMid dovenlj execution than should have been betrayed in a work 
of-flo mach gravity and such pompous pretensions. At least the 
navmti^' is fiiU of needless repetitions, for the exist^ice of which 
wie 'Can no otherwise account than by the suspicion that the work 
lunr undergone no revision. Thus, in the character of Ireton, it 
is three times rq>eated to us in three successive pa^ (200, 201, 
^tM) diat •< Ireton was a man of the sternest integrity.' < Ireton 
waf a* man of inflexible integrity.' < Ireton was a man of stem 
miemtyi In the same manner we find reiterated the well-known 
^mdliaduiied quotation firom Shakspeare, 

<* There's a divinity doth hedge a king. 

And treason can but peep to what it would ;" 

«^a aootatiim of which Mr. Godwin is marvellously fond, consider- 
ii^ mat he cannot be suspected of sharing in the toryism of the 
-Mitioient. So also, in the first half of the volume, we have the 
^fitaikilive three several times interrupted (pp. 48. 149. 174.) to listen 
'to repetitions of the characters and views of the two rival parties, 
'^PreslMemns and Independents,) where a single well digested^ 
dear, 'and concise notice of their opposition in priucVgAe^ «a\^ ^t 
jectsitDwbt- <moe for all have sufSced to famQianfie tVie xeadi^t ^viicv. 
ibe motiwes of their struggle. Nay, so curious YfOu\d «\)\»e»2t 

1 3 



ISO Godoiin's History vf the CominoimcaUh. 

have been Mr. Godwin's repugnance to die revision nf his imrraaiH 
that, upon one occasion (p. 219.)) we have first a statement by the 
author himself in the text, and then a note in contradiction oF it, 
beginning ' This is not the exactly correct statement :' as if thS 
alteration of the original passage were not the obvious remedy ft» 
its errors. It is probably to such needles repetitions that we ane 
to attribute the unwieldy bulk of this second part, — an octavo 
volume of seven hundred pages : for even h^re the literary tact 
and judgment of an experienced writer must have desertea him, 
before he ventured to concoct a volume of such cumbrous form 
and appalling dimensions, to fatigue the languid attention and offend 
the fasddious taste of the degenerate students of these latter times. 
TTie numerous blemishes to which we have here pointed, — and 
this volume is disfigured by many more, — would alone be fatal to 
the credit of a younger and less practised author ; and they are 
certainly not calculated to augment the literary reputation of die 
well-known writer before us. If Mr. Godwin were disposed to 
apply the austerity of his political maxims to the formadon of bis 
Style, he might m free to reject all extraneous ornament for a 
severe simplicity both of thought and expression. He might dis' 
dain to model the narrative of his r^ublican theme after the polished 
periods and various graces of n Hume, a Robertson, or a Gibbon. 
But if he discarded the refinements of elegant composition, be was 
at least bound to exhibit correctness and purity of diction. His 
style is neither brilliant nor elegant : but still less is it distinguished 
either by dignity, terseness, or simplicity. When he would be 
forcible, it is often merely vulgar ; when he would rise to the ele- 
vation of sentiment, it is always vitiated by incongruous images^ 
laboured, obscure, and bombastic. But enough of criticism upon 
the singularities and inaccuracies of Mr. Godwin's composition : 
much as such faults of manner and language must necessarily de- 
tract from the value and charm of any work, we should have been 
less disposed to lay particular stress upon them here, if Mr. God- 
win had been more cautious in his self-complacency, and more 
indulgent in his estimate of former labourers. But he has offered 
a challenge of superiority in his vocation, and he cannot complaiR 
if this pretension be encountered by a rigid enquiry into the real 
value of his own qualifications. 

We pass, however, from considering the literary merits of 
Mr. Godwin's second volume to the more interesting task of giving 
some statement of its historical contents. The first volume closed 
with an account of the military transactions which immediately 
followed the batde of Naseby : this second portion is occupied 
with the momentous history of the next three years, from the rain 
of the royal cause in that fatal field, to the trial and execution 
of the King. In the whole range and compass of our annuls 
there w no epoch more deeply interesting, move \if e^axiV ii\t.h 
'""■ ' dVl^tita, aad aJlc^ther more worttty ai tevea.\£4 s" ■* 



Goftakfi HisiQfy of the Cammowoml^ \6% 

(hiie ii^raAi^ift^>ii than these three years. Over die I^i^iy iiafrativ^ 
c^the stormy and incessant intrigues, and the thick-comi;)gppIi|;ic||{l 
tpmfi» jbgr ^ribidi they were fill^ we feel that we can never ^re : 
t)ie discussions which the magnitude and Questionable character <^* 
tfiese toin^actiqDS may provoke, it is equally impossible to exhausjt 
aod to terminate. These three years involve the consideration cf 
aHoio^t 9» many practical and important cases as there are setded 
and unsettled problems in the theory of public principles, free 
governmeiil^ and political right. Every feature in this brief and 
vitally interesting epoch deserves to be studied over and over ag^ii^ 
to be viewed under every possible aspect and bearing; and if 
Mr. Godwin's pages had not one half of the originality of thought 
whidi they really possess, and if they contained twice as many 
enK>neou3 and distorted conclusions as they will be found to offer, 
tb^ subject would still invest his labours with an enduring and ii\- 
eyitable attraction. 

We need scarcely remind the reader of the outlines of the jtopics 
which occupy this volume. The great contest in the field had 
terminated: the royal party were conquered ; and the victors, i|i 
the quainjt language of that stout cavalier, Sir Jacob Asdey^ had 
^^ don^ th^r work and might go play, unless it pleased them to fall 
out amoDg themselves." They needed only leisure to betray thijs 
iBcUnatipn. The two distinct parties into which the Long Par- 
iiamsEit had gradually been separating, had been restrained from 
open hoBtility with each other only by the danger of their common 
.cause against the King. The total overthrow of the Royalists left 
th^ Presbyterians and Independents no other occupation than that 
of striving between themselves for the mastery of the King and 
the kingdom, in the parliament, the army, and the nation. Then 
-came the great crisis of their struggle, the impotent m^orities of 
the Presbyterians in the houses of paijiament, the fearful strength 
of the Independents in the army, and the inevitable consequence, 
that the swords of Cromwel and his followers were cast into the 
balance^ and ensured the preponderance. The King's surrender 
to the Scotch ; their sale of his person to the Parliament; his sub- 
sequent seizure by the army; the continued negociations and 
mtrigues carried on with him by both parties ; by the Presbyterian 
leaders in the name of the Parliament, and by the military leaders 
of the Independents for themselves : all these important transac- 
tims are but so many collateral events of the contest between the two 
great factions who were now struggling for the dominion. So also 
their final collision itself; the violent apd lawless interference of the 
army; the momentary and apparent triumph of the Independent mi- 
nority in the House of Commons ; the real and more lasting d^ra- 
'dation and servitude of that shadow of a parliament, under a reign 
of iierror and military anarchy; the deposition, the Uy^V^ &xvii m^ 
ey^fiicniiimvftbe King: all these vicissitudes served ou\^* Vo \>\e.\^^^^ 

1/4 



1 



1 



Godwin's Hislon/ of the Common-weall/t. 

the elevation and ihc de»<potism of one unscmpulous, doriBg,'-! 
wily spirit. 

The pervading circumstance in tlie hiBlory of the period i 
fills this second volume of Mr. Godwin's Inbours, offers a cUti 
opposition to a passage in the former portion of his work, 
the contradiction is the more remarkable, because it was it 
very passage that Mr. Godwin chose his occasion for evincingnfl 
superior accuracy over ' the careless and imitative set of men OtM" ' 
we call historians.* They, he declared, have ' misrepresented' the 
division which had ensued in the parliamentary party. * They 
have considered it as a struggle between two sects, the Presby- 
terians and Independents, and have necessarily led their readers to 
the enquiry which of these sects was the worthiest,' Yet what has 
Mr. Godwin himself done in this second volume ? He has kA- 
lowed (and necessarily) in the precise steps of these ' imitative 
men.' He also has weighed and balanced the principles and vir»- 
tues of these two sects, and essayed to determine between thera 
which was the worthiest. And he has done this, not once merely, 
but has, as we before observed, led his readers in three several 
places to the enquiry into tlie distinction between the parties, thdr 
grounds of dispute, their political tenets, and their motives of 
action. Thus, then, to this submission to, and agreement In, the 
views taken by former historians of the same contest, has all 
Mr. Godwin's boast of novelty and superior acuteness &llen at last I 

The dissensions among the parliamentary party produced only 
the two political divisions of Presbyterians and Independents, 
and no other. Mr. Godwin, Indeed, in his former volume, ex- 
plained correctly that the political party of the Independents was* 
not so confined in numliers as to be identified in signification witK 
the religious sect of the Independents, properly so called. But, in' 
fact, what former historians had ever confounded the small reli^ 
gious community of the Independents with the numerous other 
sects and classes of men who combined with them to secnre, by 
political union, the toleration necessary for them in common, antt 
which was denied to them all by the Presbyterians ? Even Hume,; 
having here no temptation to misrepresent the truth, and needing 
merely a superficial enquiry to discover so notorious a fact, has 
(vol. viii, opening of cap. lix.) broadly and briefly noticed the amal- 
gamation of the inferior sectaries with the Independents. And 
Mrs. Macauley, too, more fully explained (vol. iv. c. iv.) the com- 
position of the latter as n political body. 

In the commencement of the civil wars, all other sects of dis- 
senters had joined with the greater mass of the Presbyterians, and 
were not easily distinguished from them in tbe common resistance 
to the persecutions of the establishe<l church and the tyranny of 
the royal government. But the overthrow of an intolerant epis* 
eopacy was to be used by the Presbyterians only as a preparntfoii 
^^^^ttme^ir^beir own system o£ .mjforj^giJ^^^Mfij 



Gi9tMtf4 Hithfjf ^ the CammomnefML \6%,^ 

iikms, inMnraiH^ >ftfid still yioone inquisitorial. Tlve men wbo^ for 
consdence-^ake, had joined hand and heart with the Pres^tariaiia/ 
iitiprittiilgr«dpf<ra one eccksiastical tyranny, were not of -a temper 
(•narffisr dlieit! lalUea . to t*aiae another in its stead. Not only the 
rdi||ious iaoaedation of Independent churches, but ^very other 
vanrtyrimd description of Christian sects, and even those main* 
tning opinions which were not Christian, the Deists, or heathens 
aarfihroroaiel' learnt to call them in his detestation and fear of their 
I dingetooiis v^ectioD-of enthusiasm, — all these sects and sets of men 
bcoiaie interested alike in resisting the establishment of a new and 
^ riffOfeii» cfanrch which they did not acknowledge. Hence, natur- 
i ally, diey were led to oppose the political ascendancy of the party 
^< wluch desired to inflict upon them an obligation of religious con- 
formity more onerous and Qrrannical than that from which they 
l' bad escaped. These banded and various sects, which agreed in 
f opposition to the Presbyterians, all came to be known under one 
political term, as Independ^its, and appropriately enough ; since 
independence of all compulsive uniformity of woi^ip and belief^ 
and a full toleration for themselves mutually, and for others in 
generaly were the bonds of their union. The political necessitjr of 
resisting the Presbyterians formed them into a political party: the 
more moderate were then, as usual in faction, drawn in to proceed 
dl lengths with the more violent ; and the latitude of opinion, 
wluch Uie bolder spirits of the party transferred from their religioQ 
ta their politics, made republicans of them all. 

It has been Uie principal business of Mr. Godwin in this second 
vdume to relate the full maturity, the gradual progress, and the 
final issue of the interesting struggle between tliese two memorable 
parties ; and he has certainly executed his undertaking with great 
eamesttiessi, animation, and natural fervour. But all idea of find^ 
ing him impartial between these two popular factions, and still 
more between their common cause and that of the King, we must 
really leave most completely out of the question. That Mr. God* 
win himself imagines that he has conducted his narrative without 
passioa or bias we can indeed readily believe ; and he has evidendy 
dcaigBed to render his work only a monument of his attachment to 
the principles of civil and religious liberty. But it is quite amusing 
to observe the perseverance and zeal with which, throughout the 
whole volume, he has fought the cause of a favourite side; ex4 
aggeratmg their patriotism and talents, i^logising for their erroM 
in conduct and judgment, and defending their most u&justifiabh} 
actions* His work is one of the most palpable examples .of his- 
torical pr^tidice that we have ever encountered^ and 'we.mU 
add, al»D^ one of the most harmless. For it is imposfsibl^j to 
entertain .a doubt of his honesty : facts he has stated with -4i(srtt« 
pdpuB fidelity, and his obliquities are those only of reasolai^ ttxii^ 
dednctieiu • . ,. vmi^i.^. 



-, ft-WV. " "^ 



Godwin's flistori/ of the Commoivwealtk. 

The Independents are tlie objects, from first to last, of \ 
aflectioii and praise. His udmtration of the leaders of that &cti 
appears to be founded priiicipally upon tlieir bold resoluUoa j| 
remarkable talent*, tlieir republican teuets, and their ntaxiin 
universal toleration. What other congenial qualities between t] 
spirit and his own may have warmed his attachment we know-fl 
but reviewing tlie whole cxHiduct of those men after the £U[^>ret 
of the royal cause, we confess we can ourselves find little to c 
mend in them beyond their generous and consistent niaintedi 
of the doctrines of toleration. A minority of fanatics and iiifii 
in a free national legislature, who invoked the aid of an \ai 
army to overpower and eject the majority of their own I 
who subjected themselves and their country to the despotif 
that army, and who finished, whether as dupes or acconiplices^J 
plunging the state into an anarchy that lelt it a prey to a mih* 
leader, — these men would seem to deserve little of oursympath 
respect. 

The Presbyterians and their leaders, on the other hand, ares 
objects of Mr. Godwhi's sarcasm and contempt. The latter were 
men of ' ordinary capacities ;' they are stigmatised as loving to ^ 
call themselves the moderate party; they endeavoured to disband 
the aimy, which had conquered their rights for them, and were as 
intolerant and exclusive in their religious doctrines as the displaced 
hierarchy. Yet Mr. Godwin might have remarked that, however 
inferior the measure of their abilities to those of their opponent^ 
the Presbyterian leaders had the penetration to foresee the danr 
gerous qualities of that army, which their rivals courted to their 
own destruction ; and we find that all the talents of their republican 
adversaries did not prevent them from being over-reached and 
enslaved by the General of their choice. The political moderation 
of the Presbyterians few will be disposed, with Mr. Godwin, to 
impute to them as a crime. They had originally embarked in the 
iglorious cause of freedom, not for the subversion, but for the con- 
stitutional restraint, of the monarciiy. When that object seemed 
secured by the overthrow of the royalists, they appear to have been 
sincerely desirous of an accomreiodation with Charles ; and there is 
«very reason to believe that nothing but the bad faith and dupltcily 
of that unfortunate monarch prevented this desirable settlement of 
ihe kingdom. 

The charge of intolerance against the Presbyterians is of course 
better founded ; and here, having, unlike Mr. Godwin, no political 
pardolities to gratify, we shall not hesitate to pronounce that their 
conduct in this respect is the foulest taint on their cause. For aft<^ 
having, as it has often been observed, themselves been tlie victiios 
of the tyranny of the episcopal church, they no sooner acquired 
the ascendancy than they desired to inflict on all who dissented. from 
their doctrines precisely the same pcnakies vjluth ttveY tiad suffered 
tkenjuelyes ; and they would thus have comtmttaA.'AMfcanma VwjiBOKfc. 



amiwMs Bia&fy lof the C&mmomedUh: t5< 

utt the • «iwc i Mic ei of their brethren which they had so justly 
i|4^usttd in the Kin^. However, as Mr. Godwin has well obserred, 
^iM« sfaoald be upon onr guard against judging men of other times 
1^ notions wfaidi hare since been gradtmlly ripened into maxims/ 
inelie can b^ no doubt that the Presbyterians acted from conscience 
JB msitftiDg upon religious uniformity, and they were not singular 
il their tunes. The doctrine of toleration was contrary to the 
4^rit <)f tihat age^ and had been recognised as little by any of the 
febrmed communities as by the Catholic church ; it would even 
hare been held for a criminal indulgence by the sincere of all pap- 
ties. The history of toleration would be a singular and interesting 
jidgect; and the Independents would receive in it the glorious dis*- 
tinction of having originated the practice if not the doctrine itself. 
Altogether, in summing up the political conduct of the Presby^ 
terians and Independents, we* should say, that the former were 
incoiisistent in this great point, but consistent in all others ; ond 
iks^ the latter were consistent throughout in their support of reli,- 
jions liberty, but inconsistent in every thing else. Under the 
{Niftence of resdsting only the unconstitutional tyranny of the King, 
they had secredy oeen labouring to erect a democracy: in the 
{MMAit of that object they were guilty of every q)ecies of criminal 
mience; and so &r from estabhshing the Utopian freedom which 
ihey coveted, they contributed only to the ruin of all liberty under 
t wHtBxy despotism. 

Perhaps the spirit of partiality for every measure of the Inde^ 
pendent or republican party, in which Mr. Godwin has composed 
his history, cannot be better illustrated than by considering the 
light in which he has viewed their employment of the army in 
lovenwing and subjugating the parliamentary majority. If there 
he one inaxim more trite and obvious than another in uie constitu^ 
tion d£ a free state^ it is that which condemns and prohibits the 
interference of an armed force with the measures of the legisla- 
ture. How has Mr. Godwin treated the violation of this essential 
law of freedom? In introducing the subject of the discontents of 
the ariny on the order for disbandment, and their mutinous approach 
to did metropolis, he observes, (p. 276.) that ' the man must have 
been without the heart of a soldier who could have thought that 
-some expression of dissatisfaction and demur was not required at 
so extraordinary a crisis. The question was, what expression 
should be adopted that should not lay them open to the contempt 
and revenue of their enemies, and should yet leave a door open for 
reconciliation and atonement?' And again, of the formation of the 
convention of officers and the representative body ofagitatars from 
among the soldiery, we are told : ' This proceeding on the part of 
the army has been idly represented, by some historians, as an am- 
bitious attempt to place themselves on a level with the PaxVvvccv^s^V* 
The General's council of officers, say they, resembled lSaelA«<3flfe 
of Peers, wbUe the persons chosen by the soldiers uv gmfct^ O^V 



1 



156 Godwin's Hisloiy of the CommiyiiXDeakh.' 

•( each troop or compnny were considered us ■Dsivepin^'i 
Houss of Coitimons. But this is one oF the gratuitous j^ct 
with which history has been so often disfigured. We may be' i 
tiiBt the House of Lords {which had recently inuurretl so ie 
odiuni, and within twenty montlis aftei-wards was entirely ab^U^ 
wa3 not at this time in so good odour with the military, tbat^, t 
ever thev might wish to engross the direction of the state ioto t 
hands, tliey should in any degree have aspired to imitate tlte 
constitution of the lealm, and have erected two houses of k^ 
■tiire in their military republic' How far this military republic 
designed, not merely to rival, but to subdue the Parliament, Rs 
torians have * idly i"ep resented,' was sufficiently shown, we ima^ 
by the event. But proceed we to Mr. Godwin's more elabb 
vindication of the mutiny of the army, or rather of the acts of 
Independent leaders by whom their revolt was prompted. 

* It will ever be a momentous and a difiicult question upon the i 

dples of moral rectitude and public justice, how Cromwel and 

leaders of the array ought tO' have acted on this occasion. Noi 

:Csn be more indubitable than the unworthiness of the proceeding ot 

ruling party in parliament. Theru wms nothing direct and mtol 

'Whatever they did. Their favourite reasoning was, that the war <n 

an end, and there was no further occasion for the army. Bat t 

.whole conduct belied their assertion. The royal party was not so be 

down as not to be an object of the most incessant jealousy. Tlie 

jorily in parliament had voted to keep up in England a large bod 

Borse, and a considerable number of garrisons, lliey had voted a L 

army to be transported to subdue the resistance of Ireland. Theyt 

Inoking out on all sides for recruits and new soldiers. Their quarrel 

not with an army, but with the army which had obtained the vici 

that the votaries of liberty so much desired, ITiey feared them as 

friends of toleration, and the enemies of that lordly and opprei 

junto which at this time ruled the nation. They were anxious 

merely to disperse them, but to put upon them every species of 

loquy and injustice. They refused to provide for their arrears, 

were desirous to load them with disrespect and affronts. If provoca 

could justiij resistance, never could any resistance be more amply 

tilled than that of the followers of Fairfax. 

' ' But this is not the view in which the subject ought to be conside 

Anger and passion are not the principles by which nations and st 

shduld be guided ; and men to whose care the interests of others an 

tfusled must discard these feelings, or they will prove themselves 

worthy of the situations they occupy. The sole consideration to w1 

OMiScfentious public men were bound to turn their attention then, 

which oalls for the judgment of an impartial posterity now, is v 

cbndoet the general welfare demanded from those by whose proceeil 

th«t wedfttre would be materially affected. Ought they to have y^el 

to the injustice which the parliament was desirous of putting U 

them ? TTiere is a point at which submission ceases to be a duty,' 

rfeeiRttmce is a virtue. Was that point arrived in the present in^tsn 

^Ie'f» a dangerouB umlertaWmg to set outseViet Vh o'pei\4e6awce'ftf 

'"' ' 'vfriKriieufetttKitflori^, in a country iiii\wi\i>M»*» •& Stt-ttaw 




Gahxn's Hitloty of the Camamxieallh. ]51 



Retionof the .Kmg.thootcecDtive government of England, hatk 
aiceD to its basis, by the civil war, and the isstie sf that wM 
liamcQt had won itself immortal honour by llie iletikerat« anl 
'■ft>C,toRe ivhich haji marked its proceedings in the comtnea(;e:iuen(, 
, fte contest : it was still titc same assembly. Afler putting down the 
infi'ofity of the King, was it wise, was it justifiable, to proceed to put 
JS<lrtJ (he authority of pariiament ? TTie House of Commons was a botfy 
((tosen by a numerous set of constituents, was the authentic represent-v 
ittve of the ntition. What was the army ? Certainly not a body con4 
jh^ ntuted for the purposes of legislation. They were for the most partt 
Ma u assemblage of volunteers, who had been encouraged, and endowedi 
1^ *ritb authorities by the Parliament, to tight their battles. If they atii 
K ' i^ted to decide, and overbear tfie measures of the legislature in civil> 
t s^re, they were, for that purpose, merely a self-constituted authority^ 
P Nothing but the most uncontroulable necessity could justify, if that 
P could justify, their interference for such purposes. i 

' ; ' Perilous however as the crisis was ai this period, and much as thrf 
|i^' wtem of our political government had been shaken, this in one point 
^' of view furnishes a new consideration, persuading the army to hold oufc 
h|' Snnly for the points which they deemed inseparable from the public 
P ^eliare. In ordinary times the authorities which custom has sanctioned^ 
ff iwry with them the greatest weight. The present parliament bad sat 
I tSreadj' for nearly seven years, a period unprecedented by any fonnevi 
Gtomple, and was therefore not such a pariiament as the English coo^. 
i^tution recognised. They had engrossed the executive, and all othBr 
public and political authorities within their own sphere. They had 
Aundant means to corrupt others, and to corrupt themselves. They had 
existed long enough to have afforded a legulararena for the machiaaUoaat 
flf-juirty ; and the period of their dissolution was yet unproclatmed.' — r 
*. Aoother particular which well deserves to be considered in order tol 
Cfubie us to make a just judgment of the present crisis of public af>i 
fHrs, is the state of debate and divisions in the House of Commons. IC< 
4e parliament had been decidedly Presbyterian, and die army Inde^; 
poopect, tills would have produced a still more portentous stale of^ 
tai^g»,thaD tliat which actually existed. But the struggle had beem 
^client and severe between the two parties from the time of the nevHi 
nwdel ia 1(344' to the present. For a considerable period the intere«ti 
nf ttie Independent party prevailed ; but, towards the close of the year* 
1616, and particularly during the negociation with the Scots for thfti 
avrrcndec of Charles, and the evacuation of England by tlie Scottish 
anny, the Presbyterians gained the upper hand. Still the contest fronft 
day to day was sharp, and the Presbyterian measures were carried b^a 
ihe«Diallest possible majorities. It was a mighty effort on both sideati 
ud numerous, no doubt, were the consultations and canvassings bjH 
means, of which the Independents expected to make the cause of.jJM) 
u^y, of justice, and liberality, triumphant. But they were reserved VOt 
peijiftoal disappointment. They had the troops at hand, by means o& 
>ltuirh in a moment they could secure the victory. They had onlyJdi 
tluoir the sword into the scale. Should they for ever submit to ii^usrt 
vigue, and persecution, because in the counting of numbers th«^ 
1^9 litfle inferior to their adversaries? It is for the iniyKEUA'KBMp 
Wtedju^^ of'aian and afbumctn aDiurs to deutde ihw Oiftesi^^ 
rpd^frof 'be I'resbperisJis was sp y,^;ty.4J|(Ji4,A\wkii'9i 




GodwitCs Histmy of the Commotmeaie/i. ^M 

and his oonfedcratcs thought that by the impeachment of ten or tintn li 
leaders, and djs(|ualifying their votes, the schemes uf the Presbyterians . 
would be made wholly abortive.' — pp. 332—338. 

And after all this the discussion of the question is rounded wi^ 
the conclusion, that, ' of consequence, Cromwel and his coadjitton 
had no choice. They must either surrender at once all the pra- 
pects of virttte and felicity, which opened before them, and wbldi 
they seemed called on to realise ; or they must, with sobriety apd 
(»ution, but without hesitation, adopt such measures, and use sucti 
instruments, as offered themselves to their hands.' 

The character and conduct of Cromwel himself form, it need 
scarcely be said, not the least curious and important objects for 
consideration throughout all the history of this period. It appears - 
to us that here Mr. Godwin has refined and speculated ovennocll . 
upon the real motives and views of that extraordinary man. Even f 
after the battle of N.-seby Mr. Godwin observes of him, ' at this 
time we have no reason to think that Cromwel had any sinister 
views ;' and he conducts his narrative to the end of this volumt^ , 
and the execution of the King, without leaving us to suppose dat • 
any design of usurpation had corrupted the republican integrity <^ 
the future Lord Protector. In fact Mr. Godwin has here to the 
last distinctly applauded the intentions of Cromwel. The next 
volume will probably enlighten us with the discovery at what period 
Our author does suspect his hero to have undergone the transition 
from polidcal sincerity to the selfish and iniquitous project of tram- 
pling on the public liberties. But in his eagerness to attribute 
consistency and principle to the military leader of the Independents, 
Mr. Godwin has encountered an embarrassing necessity. He c«i- 
not blind himself to the fact of Cromwel's repeated negociatioos 
and intrigues with the King: he will not allow himself to doubt the 
sincerity of his republican views ; and therefore to screen him from 
the charge of any dereliction of political honesty, he is content to 
brand him with infamy of a far deeper dye. He supposes that 
Cromwel and Ireton negociated with the King only to prevent hlni 
by false hopes ti"om closing with the offers of the Presbyterian^ 
and by luring him to the scaflbid, to render inevitable the estab- 
lishment of a republic. And thus it Is that Mr. Godwin com- 
placently views so diabolical a scheme of perfidy : 

' This is one of the consequences of the institution of kingship. 
Frankness and an unalterable sinceritv are republican virtues, where 
one man is so far exalted over theheaos of the community, there flattery 
and dissimulation will inevitably grow up. Tlie King who wears the 
orownwill to thousands be the theme uf adulation; the exile who pretends 
to it, will be an object of importance. This was never more strikingly 
illustrated than in the conjuncture of which we treat. Charles, stripped 
as he was of the insignia of royalty, was the centre round which the 
cabaia of party memorably exercised themselves. The PresbvteriaM 
M-ere fatisSed that, if they could wi\i bim oNct Vo coticwc with theoj, . 
^^^ex s/iould surmount every obstacle lo t\ieir Vte-ws. \ft ft\\s ^\\.ia9|g^^ 



CfoimMt Wdor^ qf the CcmmaitBoeaa. 159 

MUl AMhm Udepttrifents do nothing? To expect it, is to expect wfaM>is 
not fay tUe nature of man. Cromwel and Ireton resolved not thus 4o.be 
defeated. They had fought for political and religious liberty. They 
lUipnc^. tba views> and they dospised the persons, of their antagonists. 
!!0^ believed that, if the Presbyterians succeeded, a worse speciies' of 
tyranny, and a more unmitigated and intolerable subjection, would fol-' 
low, than that which the leaders of the Long Parliament had conspii'ed 
tb' prevent. They placed themselves in the gap, and resolved by what- 
ever means to save the character and the fortune of, their country. 

* It is interesting to observe, when men of high talents and energies 

have detemuned to engage in any enterprise, how fully they perform. 

the task they have chalked out for themselves. Ireton, a firm and rigid 

disciple of the republican school, Cromwel, the undaunted, of whom it was. 

Dotofious that, whatever he dared to think, that also he dared to speak, 

. bad no sooner chosen their piEut, and determined to fight their advers- 

; ariea irith their own weapons, than they completely Uirew into shade' 

^ the pigmy efforts of the Presbyterians. Having once sworn to deceive, 

r the dimensions of their minds enabled them immediately to stand forth 

' accomplished and entire adepts in the school of Machiavel. They 

^ iroe satisfied that the system they adopted was just ; and they felt na 

t jot of huiraliation and seif-abasement in the systematical pursuit of it.*' 

r) —pp. 208^204. 

Upon the same principle Mr. Godwin proceeds to account for. 
every action of Cromwel towards the King. We confess we can* 
not see reason to attribute all this refinement of treachery to the 
man. It is more natural to suppose that Cromwel was sincere m 
his professions to the King, until he found Charles was not to be: 
trusted. This supposition indeed would not suit Mr. Oodwin's 
ihfioiy^ since it would be fatal to the virtuous intentions of Chrom- 
ifd B8 a sincere republican. It is more natural to believe, with 
Hlim^ diat Cromwel was guided by events, and listened variously 
(b tfaie Kiog^s terms of ag&Tandisement, — a splendid income, an 
tekkmiy and the order cf the Garter. That Cromwel had ori« 
gipaUy boen far more enthusiast than hypocrite we cannot enter- 
tain a doubt; that he became later, by success and temiptation^. 
influenced by selfish ambition alone need not be added. Nor is 
di^e any reason why he who consulted his person^ a^grandise- 
taeat at ttie expense of his principles in 1653 should not nave been 
wOlihff to have made the same sacrifice to ambition, when his hopes 
and his prospects were more humble some five or six years earlier. 

But we may even be said to have Cromwel's own statement of 
die &ct, that he and his associates were once disposed to have 
closed with the King; and the whole story which was first pub** 
lidied in Morrice's Life of Orrery, and has since been reprinted 
bv Carte in his Life of Ormond, by Hume, and now again by Mr. 
Godwin himself^ bears such marks of truth that its antnenticity has 
never been questioned, though an attempt is here made to get ridf 
of it as ' a curcnmstance merely reported in the ligV\Vnes>s o^^ ^i ^xv- 
vate and bwonsequential conversation.' This accouwV., ^vved'Aa^ 
Cnmwel to Lord Orrery, as it will be remem\>ered b^ mo* 



^Bko 



1 



Godwin's HiUory of the Conimonwcalt/i. 



reodars,' was in substnnce tbe intercepting of a letter from CHflHi^ 
to his Queen, in which he acquainted her ' thitt he woe now ciwt«<l 
by both factions, the Scotch Presbyterians and the army, and wM\^ 
bid fairest for him should have him; but he tliought 1)« anWip 
do^e with the Scots sooner than the other, &c. Upon th'a, added 
Cromwel, we took Iiorse, and went to Windsor; and, findingiVE 
were not likely to have any tolerable terms from tlie Kiagj 'im inr- 
1 mediately from that time forward resolved his rum/ ' '<■■ ">'' 

After Mr, Godwin's view of the preceding conduct of CKni^W^ 
and of the army it will snrprise no one that he has 4t least ifti 
apolofjy for ' the purging of" the Parliament,' and an eulogy Iw 
the Rump or Independent residue of the House, 

' Wliether the men who at this time presided over public affairs 
were wrong In supposing it necessary by such means to put an end 
to the proceedings of Holhs and his allies, and whether their ends 
might have been accomplished with a less extensive violence, it b 
the prorincc of impartial men who have fully possessed themselves of 
the facta to decide. But, whatever judgment we may form on 
these queations, it is scarcely possible not to admire the courage vf 
the individuals who undertook the conduct of the state under these 
perilous circumstances, through measures so unprecedented and daring, 
and finally advanced their country to a glory that no former age of itb 
annals could parallel- Royalists and Presbyterians joined to scoff at the 
parliament as now constituted, under the name of " The Rump." They 
were not aware that by this representation they in some respecMs 
swelled its panegyric. The more it was the Kump of a Parliament, awt 
the more it was in dimension the despicable fragment of the mighn 
council that began the contest in November, 164'0, the more wonderfid 
it is that they accomplished such ends by so inadequate means. Tbw 
were surrounded with difficulties. Royalists and Presbyterians regardM 
them with inextinguishable animosity. Tliey looked round on the 
empty benches which had been prepared for a much more complete 
and copious assembly, and felt in themselves the energy, the firmneM, 
and the intellectual power, that might well compensate this seeming de- 
ficiency.' — pp. 6*8, 649- 

By this party it was, under the guidance of Cromwel, and the 
other military leaders of the faction, that Charles the First wm 
brought to the block. The character of that extreme and memoF- 
able act has been too olten examined and canvassed by writers of 
all parties to render it necessary that we should here enter upon its 
discussion ; nor are we in any degree disposed to engage in the 
consideration of Mr. Godwin's reasoning on so disputed and mo- 
mentous a (juestion. But it may be interesting to our readers to 
observe the manner in which it is here treated by the apologist of 
the Republicans ; and we accordingly close our notice of this se- 
cond volume of Mr. Godwin's work with the following extract: 

' Respecting the death of Charles it has been pronounced by Fo», 
«Ao( " /( is much to be doubted whether his trial and execution have not, 
MS much ag any other circumstance, served to ttase Vhe dAarecXw iijl^a^ 



Qodxun^s HUtorm of the Commonwealth. i§\ 

f with pona^r^le i^your of the authors. of that evqpt^ : . 

rox ffie^i^i^t AiithontieB of the, age haying so pronqdiipeiii,. 9fi 
W%MWStj ^^«p^'bX^fT the deed, it may be proper ^ 'lioniiSder^^r 

«fc)WR'imriCs of the aMors, and the act. ^' 

bvlrfii 4tfitaotv<jgi|ij^ toiiAagiiie a greater criminal than Hie hidiVidiHAl 
'iMi|Hili«Aaihfthe aeateiiGi&wat awarded. And, -vrhen^wesay 'thia» We 
W smK pitcftintot: the meta^yaics of crime, or. deckle in this {^aee 
hoFfiir a man, wbe» he.is domg a great mischief, may persuade himself 

}^ f^^HW victuouslyp or even be under the kmuence of upright 

BeY/pieQt- motiyeSy nor how far it is possible for any man to act 
^erwif f^ than he does, and consequently how far he who inflicts great 
evil eni ra fi^llow-creature may not be more properly an object of pity 
than of anff er. 

. ' We ySk understand the terms in their common acceptation, without 
.any thought^ while we are considering this portion of history, of chasg- 
agfthe ^judicial dicta which have in almost all instances govemed the 
Jedsipna of communities and states. 

• i.Criiiie) then, is that act of a human bein^, in possession of his under- 
^^^Hlljii^lg aad. personal freedom, which diminishes the quantity of hap- 
iF^W'M^ g<K>d that would otherwise exist among human bemgs; and 
'Afegi^eaftipsa of a crime consists in the extent to which it produces 

£k effects Liberty is one of the greatest negative adyantages that can 
'to tj)e Ipt of a man : without it we cannot possess any high degree 
•«f: happiness, or exercise any considerable virtue. Now Charles, to a 
lltfree wUcfa can scarcely be exceeded, conspired against the liberty 
it&ik ^untry^ To assert his own authority without limitation was the 
Hllilepfc irf ^1 his desires and all his actions, so far as the public was 
^9MK9ern«lk. To accomplish this object he laid aside the use of a par- 
itiaDeiit» When he was compelled once more to have recourse to this 
iblyiOnd found it retrograde to his purposes, he determined to 
up the army, and by that means to put an end to its sittings. Bodi 
ii|i£otland and England the scheme that he formed for setting aside 
•sHioppoeition was by force of arms. For that purpose he commenced 
.war against the En^ish parliament, and continued it by every expedient 
JUjijll; power (oit four years. Conquered, and driven out of the field, he 
did not for that for a moment lose sight of his object and his resolutlevl. 
I^e sought in every quarter for the materials of a new war ; and, after 
^ Interval of twenty months, and from the depths of his prison, he 
iMUid tiibm. ' To this must be added the most conisummate insincerity 
and dupticity. He could never be reconciled ; he could nevei^ he dis- 
irmed % he could never be convinced. His was a war to the death, and 
^erefiune had the utmost aggravation [^that can belong to a war against 
t)|e liberty of a nation. 

' The great object of punijshment upon the principles, of juriapru* 
dence seems to be example, the deterring others from the peirpoitra^iftn 
(Df Clime. It has been observed, however, that there was no use ii^ )^s 
instllbpe m mkking an example, since the men by whom CharJi^s ^p 
Hied &nd condemned had determined that there should be ^o. more 
kings in England. But this objection. is more specious than Sbliii. *¥ne 
pe^ODS who had formed this resolution well knew that then i«iVVv(^& 
l^t omnipotent. They constituted but a small portioiv oi tilina tv%!ui«i\« 



I 



^^ 



l€S Indian Failles. 

The royalists were still natncrous, and wen: more bent on their cllij 
than ever. The Presbyterians were probably more nuuierouG thau 
royalists, tu the full as much exasperated agaJnet the present govt 
ment, and lixed upon their scheme of a limited and preEbytc 
monarchy. It is idle to say, because the present ruling party is ^i 
lute fur a republic that there never shall be a king in the eoun 
And the example to be made might be fully as eli^ctiTc againsi 
aspirant as against a king in posseasion. The proper lesson taughl 
the act of the thirtieth of January was that no per^n, however hig 
■tation, however protected by the prejudices of his contemporai 
must expect to be criminal against the weli'are of the state and c 
munitv without retribution and punishment. 

' lite event, hoirever, sufficiently proved that the condemnation 
execution of Charles did not answer the purposes intended by 
authors. It did not conciliate the English nation to republican ideas 
shocked all those persons in the country who did not adhere to 
ruling party. This was in some degree owing to the decency 1 
which Charles met his fate. lie had always been in manners Uin 
sober, and specious. And the immediate publication of the Eikon I 
like, on event that could not have been foreseen, gave force to t) 
ideas. The first magistrate in England had at all times been place 
a distance above the rest of the community. As Shakespeare 
presses it, 

' " There's a divinity doth hedge a king, 

And treason can but peep to what it would," 
The notion was every where prevalent, that a sovereign could no 
called to account, could not he arraigned at the bar of his subjc 
And the violation of this prejudice, instead of breaking down the,' 
which separated him from others, gave to his person a sacredncas wl 
never before appertained to it. Among his own partisans the deat 
Charles was treated, and was spoken of, as a sort of deicide. Ac 
may be admitted for a universal rule, that the abrupt violation i 
deep'rooted maxim and persuasion of the human miud product 
action, and urges men to hug the maxim closer than ever. I am 
that the day that saw Charles perish on the scaffold rendered 
Btoration of his family certain.' — pp. 685 — 69".^. 



^ 



Art. VI. Le Pantcha-Tantra ; ou, Irs C'mq Ruses, Fables du Bra 

Vichnmi-Sarvia ; Aventures de Paramarin, el antres Contes, le 

traduU, pmir la premiere Jots, mr les Originaux Indies, Par 

L'Abbg J. A. Dubois. 8vo. pp.411. Paris, Merlin ; Lon( 

Treuttel and Wurtsi. 1 826. 

It was with some sui-prise that we lately saw an announcement o 

intended translation of this volume ; for half of it already exisb 

English, and the version is to be fonnd in the works of no obst 

writer, — Sir William Jones. • The Fables of Vishnon-Sar 

(whom we absurdly call Pilpay,) which occupy the first half of 

• Works, vol. xiii. Svo. edition. 



Indian Fables* I6S 

prttttot itolmne, have been already translated by that cUstinj^ished 
Qtfentcdist, under thfe title of *« Hitopadesa ; or," Pleading Iristriic- 
tion,*' — a. work which scarcely differs from the Pantcha-lantra, but 
in tl^e order, of the &bles, which the accomplished translator * has 
PTOfcvPDQced to be the most beautiful* if not the most ancient^ apor 
ugites ip the world. The fifth tantra, indeed, ia not in the <^ Hito- 
ptdo^;?' but the three fiddles of whidi it consists are well known to 
ateadeW'irthte first is the story of the dog whidb^ after destroying 
the topentihat threatened his master's child, was himself killed by 
die ahirmed fiither; the second is the story of the milkmaid and 
her vain projects ; and the thinl is familiar to all young ladies and 
genderaen who have been forced to study Wanostrocht*s Grammar, 
as 7^ Three Dervishes. 

Tb^ Ipdiap stories, however, composing the second part of the 
volame^ (which comes recommended by the name of the Abbe 
Dub(»% whom a residence of thirty years in India, and an excel- 
i^ work upon its manners, eminently qualify for the task he has 
here undertaken,) present much that is equally new and entertain- 
ing. We already knew how deeply we were indebted to the East 
at the revival of letters for the invention that then suddenly blos- 
somed out over Europe, and we are now aware that the old 
fabulists derived from Sanscrit originals some of their most bril- 
liant fancies, and most of their diverting incidents : but we were 
not prep^ed to meet in Indian fiction with the fine satire and gro- 
tesque exaggeration of Rabelais, which the stories at the end 
of M. Dubois's volume present us. On the Brahmins, throughout, 
the most unsparing ridicule is lavished ; and wherever they are 
not represented as hateful, they are exhibited in a despicable or 
ludicrous light. We translate a few examples, as a specimen at once 
of this and of the volume : 

* There was once a simple gourou (or priest) called Paramarta, who 
had five foolish disciples, in company with whom the gourou was one 
day visiting his district : about mid-day they arrived at a river which 
they bad to cross. On finding the part of the river which was most 
easily fordable, the disciples prepared to enter the water, when the 
gourou stopped them, and $aid, << My sons, this river is often in very 
bad humour,- and many tragical events have been occasioned by it. I 
have heard, that in oruer to £^void accidents it should be crossed only 
when it is asleep, and never when it is awake : therefore before enter- 
ing it let one of you go and ascertain whether it is awake or asleep : 
a&r which we shall determine whether we should cross it now, or 
wait for a more £a,vourable opportunity." 

* The gourou's advice appearing very sensible, one of the disciples 
whose name was Stupid was deputed to ascertain whether the river was 
asleep or awake- In order to do this, Stupid took the match with which 
he had just lighted his cigar, and approaching the river very softly, for 
fear of awaking it, he touched tlie surface of the water withtU^bwx'^- 

I ■ .1. I ■ m i ^ ■ ■■ Ml ■ ■ I I ■ — I .Ml, , m m ■ ■ ■I f 

* Sir W, Jones, Discourse III. 

M 2 



latter^ 



tM Indian Fables. 

ing match. As soon as the fire and watet 
sent forth a hisaing noise accompanied ii 

guished match. ~ 

' At the sight of thesp alarroing phenomena, Stupid runs back lathe 
gourou and assures him that the angry river is awake. They reiiwiB ;. 
accordingly for a long lime on the bank, waiting for a more favourahje 
opportutnlT, when they see a man on horseback traverse the river with- 
out difficulty. Stupid la then sent back to examine once more tlie 
river; and that ingenious disciple finding that the insertion of the'ex- * 
tingDished match produces no bubbling of the water, he retunis to re- 
port that the river is asleep ; and the priest and liis disciples accord- t- 
ingly cross it without danger. ■ 

' On reaching the other side they mutually congratulated each other 
on their happy escape from danger, and one of the disciples named 
Idiot began to count their number, to ascertain whether any of thero - 
had been drowned in crossing: but in counting he forgot to reckon 7 
himself, and counted only the five others. Having repeated his calcul- 
ation Be»eral times, and still finding only five, he broke out into loud 
lamentations, in which he was joined hy Paramarta and the other dis- * 
ciples. Their regrets soon changed into curses, and one of them, epos- * 
trophising the river, prayed that the_^re might devour it. A traveller 
happening to pass that way, and witnessing this scene, asked them for 
an explanation of it ; and the gourou detailed the affair at full len^. 
The traveller seeing their excessive stupidity, and being resolved to 
take advantage of it, professed to be a sorcerer, and offered for an 
adequate reward to restore hy hfs charms the defunct to life. Para- 
marta assured liim that he only possessed forty fanons of gold, but 
offered liim that sum on condition of restoring the lost member of 
their society to life. The pretended magician observed that the sum 
was very disproportionate to the service required, but that under all 
the circumstances he would accept Faramarta's offer. He then shoned 
the group a huge stick which he held in his hand: " All my magic 
power," said he, " lies in this stick ; and it is from the end of this en- 
chanted wand that the missing member must spring : range yourselves 
in a line, and each of you must allow me to apply a good blow with 
this stick upon his shoulders: on receiving the stroke, each must call 
out his name ; at the same lime I will count your number, and finally 
there will appear on the scene six persons, the number which there was 
before you crossed the river." 

' He then made them stand in a line, and beginning with the gourou, 
he discharged on his shoulders a stiff blow with his magic wand: 
" Gently," cried the patient : " it is I — the gourou Paramarta." 

' "One," said the magician: then giving Stupid a still harder blow 
on the back : " Ah," cried he, my back is broken : it is I — the dis- 
c^le Stupid." 

' " Two," cried the magician ; and continuing to apply smart strokes 
on the shoulders of the next three, he arrived at Idiot, who had made 
the erroneous calculalion. The sorcerer, giving him a heavy blow 
which laid him flat on the ground : " There," said he, " is the sisth : 
that is the lost one, whom I here restore to you in perfect health." 

' Paramarta and his disciples, fully convinced of the wonderful powers 
ofthc traveller's magic wand, paid him thetotly faaoos a^tced on ; anii' 
without testifying the. sJightMt wiah tha.t \ie Bhovi\i xe'peBX ftve cdLC^ ■ 



Indian Fables. 165 

l^f^^of/iticyur i^iunbery they thanked hiiiH and returned to theor nMd^* 
-*ni. 231— 24>7. 

'. ^ A' W^ftt number of similar adventures are detailed, in which the 
Jrafciftw the priest and the stupidity of his disciples are very 
toQ^t^us^ : in one instance Paramarta having hired an 

o^to .ii3e on by the day, lies down under its shadow : tor this the 
piropiietgir wii^hes to exact an additional sum. Paramarta refuses 
to pay i^ and appeals to the chief of the neighbouring villaffe, who 
deaides the question in the same way as the arbiter in the foUowing 
story, which he relates as a^propos to Paramarta's adventure : 

* I was myself on a journey some years ago> and one evening. I ar- 
med at an inn where I intended to pass the night This inn presented 
not only a place of repose, but in the keeper of it travellers found a. 
person who for their money would cook their victuals. He was then pre- 
paring a ragoiit so well seasoned, that the perfume which it sent forth 
filled all the room, and was highly agreeable. I should have been glad 
to have eaten ]>art of it, but not having money to pay for it, I could not 
satisfy my longing. I had brought with me my little portion of boiled 
rice, and approaching the fire-place where the ragodt was preparing, I 
bagged the cook to allow me to hold my bag of rice in the fragrant 
steam, in order that it might catch some of the odour, as I could not 
affind to pay for the substance. 

' Hie cook,, with more complaisance than generally belongs to that 
dass, granted my request. I accordingly held my rice over the steam, 
of the ragoiit until it was withdrawn from the fire. I then retired to a 
comer, and ate my rice, which, though it had only been seasoned by 
vapour, appeared to me excellent. 

< Next morning when I was about to proceed on my journey, the 
innkeeper stopped me, and in a determined tone insisted on my paying 
bim for the vapours of his ragout, with which I had seasoned my rice 
the preceding evening. 

^ ^* What ! cried I, with equal astonishment and indignation : ^' Did 
erer any one hear of paying money for smoke ?" I refused to pay ; 
and my adversary seizing me by the collar, swore he would not loose 
bis hold tin I had paid him for the steam of his ragout. I still refused ; 
and we mutually agreed to refer our dispute to the chief of the village, 
who fortunately was a very equitable person. 

' Hiis worthy man gave his decision on the point in the following, 
terms: 

' " Those who ate of the ragoiit shall pay in hard cash. 

' ^ T^ose who have only swallowed the vapours of it should pay 
only with the smell of money." 

* Then taking a small bag of money which he had about him, he ap- 
proached my adversary, and seizing him with one hand by the nape of 
the neck, he rubbed his nose roughly with the coin, saying, <' Smell it, 
my good friend, smell it: take pajrment for the odour of your ragout." 

* " Enough, enough," cried my adversary : " you'll rub my nose off: 
Fm quite satisfied, and am ready to give a receipt m {\A\r ' — 
pp.272— 275. 



' * Convent/ 
M 3 



Indian FalAa. 



1 



We csntiot afibrd room for smy otlier adventures of the wmlhy 
Pitramarta ; but we must extract one short story, iticidentu^ 
told by a village buf)<>on, who is called in when the gourou faDcies 
himself in extremis, in consequence of his approaching death being 
predicted by a Pourohita Bralimin or astrologer. The \'isitor 
fidvises Paramarta to perform thu saerijke of the pestle, of which, pf 
course, the gourou has never heard ; and iJie visitor gives the sick 
mail the following account of this famous sacrifice, in which the 
Brahmins are, as usual throughout these tales, represented as oUerljr 
stupid and contemptible : 

■ There was once a merchant of the sect of Siva, who teslifieil ills 
devotion to the goddess by his bounty to the pandarangs ■ ; and where- 
ever he met any of these penitents, he invited them to his houGc. His 
wife, who was far from having the same affection for these pious persons 
entertained by her husband, and who beitides was forced to cook for ' 
hem, was rather annoyed at the numerous and frequent visits of the 
pandarangs. Seeing that her remonstrances with her husband pro- ' 
duced no effect, she had at last recourse to a stratagem for diniiui^ing 
the number of her visitors. 

' One day her husband went into ihe market-place on business, and 
met in the streets a pandarang who asked alms. " I have not time to 
attend to you at present," replied the merchant ; " hut go to my house, 
nd tell my wife that I have desired you to wait there till my return." 

' The pandarang gladly accepted the invitation, and proceeded to the 
liouse where he found the merchant's wife, who begged him to sit down 
on a mat near the door. The pandarang did so, and the woman pro- 
ceeded to sweep and arrange the room, after which she washed her 
face, arms, and feet, ami embellished her forehead with sandal-wood 
dust, and her feet and hands witli safiron. After completing her toilette 
ehe took the pestle with which rice is pounded, and approached with a 
solemn air the spot where the pandarang sat. She then went to the 
hearth, and taking two handfulls of ashes, she rubbed her forehead, and 
the pestle therewith, find then placing the pestle in the midst of the 
room, she adored it by prostrating herself thrice before it. 

* The pandarang, who had observed all the ceremony in silence and 
astonishment, then said, " This is something quite new to me : till this 
day I never witnessed nor heard of such a sacrifice as that you have 
just performed. Pray, madam, do me the favour to tell me what it all 
sigmiies : can this pestle be one of your household gods ?" 

' " The ceremony I have just performed," replied the merchant's 
wife, " is one peculiar to the women of our casle ;" and after saying 
these words, she desired the Brahmin in a very angry voice to follow 
her into the inner room : " for," added she in an under tone, but so 
oud as to he perfectly heard by the pandarang, " the sacrifice of the 
pestle is not yet completed ; and in order that you may remeniher it, it 
shall be accomplished on your shoulders, to remind you and your crew 
never to come prowling here again," 

' The pandarang, on hearing tliis, got up, but instead of following the 
woman he rushed out at the door as quickly as possible, in order to 
iivqid tlic accomph'shmCDt of the sacrifice on his head and shoulders. 

■ * Mendicant priests of the ^ucl of Siva.? ^^^^^^h 



Stadei 4ifjpont^ueH Ltfe. 



Wi 



. :..< S^ott aftar Iiift,4(p«rtttie,. the merohatit retiijfiied#t tmi rti^^ed 
;AjN}t 4^, paadwwg* /^ Ay," cried his wife^ <^ that was a |ttr0tt}r 
.D;i^40f^g^.ouQent here: he must have been mad. As soon qs. be 
c^e inline asked for our pestle, intending to carry it off: I can't give it 
^Oii, safd.ll^ iHthoiit my husban<rs permission : he is now in the maricet- 
pTa;<^, biltyou tnay srt down, and wait till his return. On thik, your 
^dat^ got up in a rage, and went off." 

* ^ Toa ^ertK wrong to refuse the holy man, said bar husband : 
^ gm ttie the pestle, and 111 take it to him mjrselC' The merclumt 
diofr todk the pestle and hastened after the pandarang, whom he saw at a 
little distance. << Stop, pandarang!" he shouted, ^^ Stop! here is the 
pesde you wanted." The Brahmin, seeing the merchant coming with « 
pestle m his hand, felt convinced that he intended to consummate the 
sacrifice cm his shoulders which his wife had not completed, and instead 
of stopping, continued to run as &st as he could. The merchant see- 
ing him run was satisfied that he was mad, as his wife had sud ; and his 
age md belly not allowing him to run as fast as the other, he ceased to 
pursue him. 

^ Hiis artifice of the woman produced the intended efiect; and die 
story having spread among the pandarangs, not one thenceforth ven* 
tured to enter the merchant's house, lest he should be welcomed by ikg 
sacrifice ofthepestk: — pp. 326—332. 

We must here^cohclade by assuring our readers, thfit if they have 
derived any amusement from the extracts which we have given, they 
timy «njoy a much higher degree of pleasure from some other sCories 
which we have been prevented, by their length, from translating 
into English. 



ARt. Vn. Sketches of Portuguese Life, Manners, Costumey and CJiaraC' 
ter, niustrated by Twenty coloured Plates. By A. P. D. G. 8vo. 
pp. ^4. 16*. London. Whittaker. 1826. 

Considering the close and uninterrupted intercourse, political and 
Gcmimeroial, which has subsisted between this country and Portpgsd 
for nearly a century and a half, and which was drawn still closer 
bf the events of the last war, it is a little surprising how rarely and 
imperfectly the attempt has been made to familiarise the English 
reader widi Pbrtuguese manners, scenes, and national peculiarities. 
Aju3l yet there is a great deal both in the people and their country 
which is highly remarkable and curious ; and, assuredly, there is 
no portion df Europe which may be said to offer a more distinct 
and striking individuality of aspect and character. 

Hie ardent, deep-toned temperament, the excited mannerism and 
the southern features of its people, the variegated costume and pri-^ 
mitive appurtenances of the peasantry, the gorgeous processions 
and pageantry of the public worehip ; — ^ then the endless variety of 
architecture, aqueducts, and A^untains, stately palaces^ isvasse^ o^ 
coDveBtual gloom, cottages of primaeval rudeness, GotVuc SLwdi^Voot- 
jsh ruins of frowning grandeur or fantastic tracery *, — ^gsCvsx, 

M 4 



tAr^^V 



Skeiehes of Parli^uese Life. 

d^^httiil climste of die covxArf, with its brilltant and suhry « 
shine, rHteved by the most twlmy of stmospheres, the mii^' 
fertility and wild grandeur of itii scenery, its luxuriaut productii 
its groves of the orange, the lemon, and the olive, vin^ards'jf 
orchards, forests of tJie chesnut, and corli-tree, and pine, wildf 
myrtle, jessamine, and geranium, its bold and rugged meunf 
outlines, its parched rocks, and cool sparkling rivulets; — sucivfl 
the objects which Portugai lavishes on the delighted and inqwisitSSs 
observer. Doubtless these charms of the senses are oftea broken' i 
and suspended by sounds, and sights, and effluvia of the most' i 
abominable description; on the roads by the eternal creaking . 
and groaning of bullock- carts, " the diy wheel grating on the axle- , 
tree," and the discordant tones which the peasantry design fof 
music ,- and in Lisbon, above all, by the most loathsome spectacles 
of mendicity and ordure, and the most villainous compound of un- 
speakable odours thai imagination can conceive or filth engender^ 
But from the most appalling of these desagremem die rural scenes 
of Portugal are free ; and yet all tiie beauties of those scenes have , 
scarcely induced a single pen to celebrate their praise, 

Until the appearance of the volume before us, none of our numer*- , 
ous British travellers and residents in Portugal, since the com- 
mencement of the present century, have employed themselves 
expressly in delineating the peculiarities of Portuguese society and 
nature, with only a single exception, that of Mi-s. Baillie, wboM 
letters from Lisbon were published two or three years ago: but 
that lady's brief residence in Portugal was confined to the capital 
and its environs ; and even her descriptions of the aspect and man- 
ners of Lisbon, lively and entertaining as they were, still bore 8' 
feminine character of slightness and insuiBciency, which left Un- 
touched all the coarser features of society, and must altogether feii ■ 
to satisfy the less scrupulous curiosity of the male enquirer. 

There are, indeed, some details of manners rather unceremo- 
niously recorded in the present volume; and notwithstanding the 
warmth and earnestness with which, on another subject, the autlMff 
deprecates the possibility of his motives being misconstrued, we 
cannot help thinking that the strain of mingled virulence and ridi- 
cule, with whicli he has ti-eated the vices of the Portuguese clermp 
and the ceremonies of the national worship, exceeds the bounds 
both of moderation and decorum. But in every other respectj 
save that of religion, it is impossible for any one who has ever been 
in the country to hesitate in confirming the fidelity of these animated 
sketches of Portuguese life. The work bears internal evidence of 
fai^ful observation, independently of the statement which the anthttr' ' 
gives in hisprefeceofhis long experience of Portugal and its inhabit-' ' 
ants; his long residence in the country satisliictorily accounts for iiib'' 
jntimate Acguaintance with hii. subject. To his other qualiticatibtM ' 
/i&Jas MU«d-ti»B^eeab]e power of illusUabng Vvb d^n^'oGna.le^- 



Skeickes cf Pcrtij^piese Lffe. 168"' 

Q«M^ y«ilr< spirited. drawings. It appears that the .twant)iipbi|ei 
r^b^rtioeoniqpaDy the volume are^ with only three exceptiwiS) from- 
un>ii9i;:peii^il^< and that the whole of them have been etefaed. by 
i|Melli)iiAsr:0pecimens of excellence in the art, weistq^poae.that 
HliiWioidd himself be the first to disclaim any pretensions for them; 
»ii.tbqf»ftr^ really among the best amateur sketches which we. have 
!Yer, Bteff Jwith in a book of the kind. 

.Tbeaek drawings, however, are converted by the author into a 
^oasQnor excuse for the absence of much method and arrangement 
rooLibis «K>¥k. Having at first, he declares, had no other inten* 
ioB thaathat of accompanymg his few drawings with short notices, 
he volume into which these gradually swelled can boast, he fears, 
)f little connection or order; and accordingly, in the very begins 
ling, we are set down, rather abruptly, in the streets of Lisbon, 
ind introduced to a group illustrative of its popular costumes 
wbkh form the subject of the first chapter. 

We are next conducted through the public buildings and other 
remarkable objects of the capital. The relation is interspersed. 
Indeed, with many good anecdotes and curious notices of character 
Eind manners : but the lengthened description of streets, quays, 
and squares, churches, palaces, and convents, must ever be tedious^ 
even in the hands of the liveliest tourist ; and accordingly this part 
is the heaviest of our author's volume. Here, too, without necefr* 
si^ .or obvious connection, he has taken occasion to introduce 
two episodes, in a style which evinces considerable acquaintance 
with the notable art of book-making. These are the history of 
King Sebastian's expedition against the Moors, and the life of the 
heroic Dom Joao, — or, as he most unsentimentally anglifies the 
aaoi/e, Don John de Castro, — the famous Viceroy of Portuguese 
[d4ia jin the sixteenth century. The story of Sebastian owes att 
its romantic attraction to two or three circumstances only ; — the 
chivalrous spirit of the young monarch, his gallant bearing aiid. 
untimely fall in a well-fought but disastrous field, and the strange 
uncertainty in which his real fate seems so long to have been en- 
fdaped* None of the other particulars of his rash expedition were 
remarkable; and the whole relation is besides sufficiently familiar 
to moat readers. For the introduction of the life of the hero, Dom 
Joio de Castro, our author has had a fairer excuse. The noble 
iisinterestedness and loyal devotion, the invincible fortitude and 
patient courage of the man, his really great talents, exalted piety, 
ind rigid integrity, oddly associated with quaint eccentricities^ 
wlumsical punctilios, and superstitious observances, all invest his 
chaiBCler with a singular and powerful interest. The events tttid/ 
viqsaitjades of his life and fortunes are worth relation ; and aUo^:^ 
gs^jR.pe dp not object to our author's plea for the intiroduttiott i 
intQ.^eoe sketches of a memoir, that ^ may serve to aSiLOT^l^,^e^8e^^ 
«<1fflitift/fwc6peo of the: Portuguese men of the o\dfi;ii Ajqv^^ 



Sketc/tes of Poiiii^^se Life. 



idtfacir ll 



enable tke fender to fitrm some comparison between them anditfacir I 
ilesCciHlnnls of our days.' ■ 

Wu next uome to a chapter on the reticiouK processions of Lis- * 
faon, which aided by the plates will be found to afford the untra- - 
veUed reader a very accurate idea of the superb and picturesque 
ceremonies of the Catholic church. But as we cannot transfer the _ 
author's drawings to our pages we shall not attempt to transcribe u 
any o( the descriptions which accompany tliem. The next chajiter, - 
on Portuguese equipages, is amusing, tliough sketched too much to ■ 
c^icaturs. Here the subject leads our author to speak of the esta- a 
blisbment and retinue of noble families in Portugal and of the 
tlegrading habits of the young fidalgos, who are brought up totrflj 
without mental cultivation, and suffered to find their associates " 
among the lacqueys and stable-boys of tlieir paternal households ^ 
The result of this system be declares to be, that " with the excep- - 
tion of a few of the order who are distingutslied for the highest 
di^;ree of mental acquirements, and employed in diplomacy at ^ 
foreign courts, the great mass of them are plunged in brutal igDS 
ranee.' After this summing up we need not add that be hasde- I 
scrilied the education, character, manners, and pursuits of the Pax- I 
tnguese nobility with caustic, and, it must be confessed, with merltsd I 
severity. We pass over the nest chapter, on the ceremonial of I 
the Portuguese court, under the late monarch, to arrive at tbxat I 
odters, wtuch are filled with some capital sketches of the manners, I 
customs, amusements, &c^ of the country. Our author commencesi 
ss becomes liis galluitry, with the important subject of female dress. 

' The tlrsEs of the lower orders of females in Portugal, when in 
doors, is not materially different from that of the same ciaes of women 
in England, with this exception, that the Portuguese wear no caps, 
but merely a piece of black ribband or velvet to assist the comb in 
confining their immense quantity of hair, which is almost always of a 
j,ct black colour. 

' During the heat of summer, most of them wear no covering on 
the bosom, which is consequently exposed to view; but as this is the 
habit of the country, it attracts no observation. Perhaps the origin 
of this custom may, in some measure, be attributed, not merely to Die 
heat of tbe climate, but to a certain consciousness of the superiority 
of form in this particular, which certainly distinguishes the Portuguese 
females. Tliey are by nature (I speak of the Lisbon women) exceed- 
ingly indolent : a defect which is not a little encouraged by their cna- 
toin of seldom or ever stirring oot of their houses, except on occasions 
of great moment, or on Sundays and saints' days, for the purpose «f 
going to mass. Afliiirs immediately connected with their houseliolds 
seldom compel them to go into tbe street, as almost every thine of 
which tbey stand in need is hawked about at the doors, such as fish, 
vegetables, fruit, &c. 

' Women of other countries, unaccustomed to such habits of seclu- 
sjon as those which Portuguese ideas of decency compel their females 
ta observe, would but ill brook this confinemefiV. \\q\, Vwiv \.\\ewi is, vs 
J ruatter of taste as well as habit ; iheir chie^ p\c's.a\jie cuws\s\ki^ m 



Sketches ^^PatkigueK Lj/b. 171 

iodluAg out of cheir woidowB almost all day' long^ 4o obaorre'^vciy 
thing which t^es place in the streets or at their Beighboui«\ and to 
converse with the latter, verbally, if sufficiently near, or by means of 
^hpr hands apd fingers, if bevond the reach of the voice* Convers- 
fitions of many hours* length are sometimes kept up in this way, 
certain positions of the fingers standing for well understood syllables 
(Sir words. 

" Thus, whh the bid of expressive gestures, two inaco^sible peraoiM 
are enabled to communicate with all the facility of a written cotre* 
spondence, and with this superior advantage, that they enjoy the pleasure 
q£ seeing each other, and interchanging thoughts, without suspenoe or 
delay* Love being the pursuit which, almost to the exclusion of every 
other, engrosses the mind of the Portuguese people, it may readily 
be conceived that this digito-telegraphic intercourse is made the 
vehicle of amatory declarations, which the national custom of female 
seclusion renders it a difficult enterprise to convey in any other manner. 

^ When these females sally forth to church, their dress assumes quite 
& 'different appearance from their in-door costume* No people in the 
world are so particularly neat about the feet as they are : their stockings 
are always of the whiteness of snow, and their shoes, made of silk, and 
not unfrequently ornamented with embroidery and spangles, are of very 
good workmanship. They wear over their dress a cloth capote, and 
over their heads a muslin handkerchief, both adjusted in an artful and 
coquetish manner. 

* Thus equipped, -and improving the effect of their becoming; costume 
by die graceml movement witli which they deliberately pick .out their 
way over a cUrty pavement, they never fail, if faature lias lJ6en id tfie 
least pmipitious to them, to create att interest which women-Hlf Mie!r 
cm mt r ie s would be much longer in winning. Howei^er little genend 
beauty of features a Portuguese young woman may be able to boast, 
she is sure to make conquests at first sight, owing to a single attraction 
which she invariably possesses, — a pair of the most lovely eyes in the 
world, either black as the sloe, or of a clear chesnut, or of a deep hazel 
hue, and ever full of expression and intelligence. Such are the soul- 
speaking features which the Moorish bard delighted to celebrate, and 
was wont to compare to the eyes of thef gazelle. The lon^ dark eye- 
lash and the finely arched eyebrow are likewise the distingmshing marks 
of a Portuguese fece.' — pp. 187 — 191« 

In this mercurial and animated spirit the author passes through 
the whole table of popular manners, habits, and diversions for some 
My pages, until he rounds the tale of human life with its impotent 
oonclasion^ -^ and funerals are his theme. It is a curious taste 
whidi has devoted a chapter to Portuguese funerals.: bat our hu> 
iiKHii4st appears to have quite " a rage*' for the lugubrious and 
die horrible ; and his drawings evince rather an extraordinary choice 
of subjects, such as it might appear more natural for his pencil 
to have rejected, in a selection where every variety was before him. 
Thus, besides the funeral-scene which we have here, with a graven 
digger ' breaking up' a skeleton, we have next the plate oiS axQJXvVdrj 
executj^n^ to grace a chapter on the PortugCiese cithiy H* wotV ]^iS^^ 
re Aave a revoking scene of a slave-sKop at Bio TlaiisScbi^ ^^ 



w. 



Sfretc/ics of Portuguese Life. 



detatlE of 'Bluer; oD the victims 9t wliicli humsiuty may 'bldj 
and, lastly, in the same taste foi' horrors, we have two pUtes oG^ 
execution of the political conspirators of 1 8 1 7, composed and dia 
certainly with great ability and spirit, but therefore calcoIdt^'H 
to leave the more powerful and painful impression tipon th^J 
gination. The abject despair in the countenance of one ofl 
condemned has a reality about it whieh almost provokes a shiuO 
We have no room to notice two chapters on the negroes of ■1 
bon, and on the same class in the Brazils, though both of these 4 
sions are replete with curious details, and, especially the latter, K 
some matter for interesting political remark. Atier these iiotil 
our author carries us into by far the most attractive, and, if we ■ 
so call it, most amiable part of his volume : we mean his cUJ 
ters on the peasantry of Portugal. Here he has written and sket<9 
with evident affection for his subject ; and his picture of this pn 
live and simple-hearted race is the more deserving of attention 
no writer on Portugal before him seems to have cultivated aiij 
quaintance with, or at least has taken the trouble to describe, ,ji 
most interesting portion of the population. We must sufiera 
author to introduce the reader to this class of the Portuguea 
his own n 



' At an early hour of the morning, every avenue to the city of L 
K thronged with the peasantry, called Saioios, their burros (donkeyi 
mules groaning under the weight of the delicious ^fruits with 1 ' 
they are laden. These consist of water-melons, melons, oi 
lemons, (sweet and sour,) figs of the most delicious kiad, and, ir 
all tl)at tite best of climates and richest of soils are capable of produi 

' Besides fruits, those who come from Cintra or its neighbouril 
bring a kind of little white cheeses, known by the name ofguen 
and made from the milk of goats. Another species, much more a^ 
able to the taste, are those called reqiieijoes ; they are larger thttt 
former, and arc neither salt nor sour, but of a flavour more resemUiM 
that of cream. Some fewsaloios bring to their favourite customers si 
saucers full of cream, which for its delicious flavour stands lut^' 
rivalled even by that of Devonshire and Cornwall- Poultry and game 
of every kind, m great abundance, form likewise a part of their cargo ; 
but the former is usually very tough, and extravagantly dear. 

' The peasantry who reside many leagues off are obliged to set out 
from their homes on the eve, and travel until midnight; when tliey are 
compelled, for the sake of their loaded animals, to rest a little. la 
winter, they take shelter upon these occasions in some esia/n^enj ,- bat 
in the fine season they unload their beasts under the starry caiiopy, and 
tie them with good length of rope to a tree so that they may grasie 
whilst they themselves enjoy a nap. 

' Tliese people, from the habit of midnight travelling under the clear 
and silent heaven, beuome, in some measure, like the wandering Arabs, 
observant of the constellations, and learn to count the waning hoars by 
their position. Of the truth of this I once witnessed an example: 
Jiav/nff one night lefi Lisbon to go to Cintra,! ni\Bse4«\^ 'wa.-^^i-j teeij- 

" ^"plo the eastward, and waa fairly on tXipj " -»ii-=^ _i_ 



Sketchet of Portuguese Life. J 73 

[ observed a group of saloios stretched on the ground neJEtf ihe road- 
ridfeiji'irhltti' pe0{pi» infoftned met of my mistake ; adding' thfAi,<M'{b^ 
Qlttiilg asran tira conatry as I proposed doing in the darit towalMIs 
(jiM^ ft'Waa out of the question, owing to the extreme ruggedneai- of 
di|i^, fxi^^ntaiiHu I therefore took their advice, and tjdng nvf horse to a 
f^fjij^ b^h^.laid myself down amongst them to await the dawn. After 




flocft is fkr advanced, 'so is the wolf; the crook is already perceptible, 
and the shepherd will soon appear ;" upon which he aroused his com- 
pamons, the loads were replaced on the animals' backs, and they all 
moved on again towards the ^' Grande Cidade/' ' — pp.317 — 319. 

Our author is never tired of eulogising the industry, temperance, 
patience under privation, and the intrepidity of this manly race 
when nncontaminated by the corruption of the capital ; and we 
can agree in his declaration that they need only a better govern- 
ment to elicit ener^es and cultivate virtues equal to those of any 
people on earth. Their agriculture is as primaeval as their simple 
manners ; for in Portugal, until lately, improvement had been un- 
khown for two hundred years. 

* The old patriarchal custom of " treading out the cowi" with oxen 
in order to shell it is still in use in Portugal ; and each animal has a 
woman walking immediately in his rear, following with outstretched 
bands to receive that which, if it reached the ground, might defile and 
omglomerate whole heaps of grain. 

}. In the making of wine, neither presses by means of steam (a thing 
uirimown in Portugal) nor machinery of any kmd are used. Our delicate 
females, who sip with such winning grace the juice of theDouro grape, 
are [yet] to know that in the very liquid which they receive through 
their lips human feet, the trotters of the rude peasantry^ have soaked ; 
for no other machinery is here used in the process of wme-making. 

* The carts made use of in Portugal for every kind of purpose are 
heavy and clumsy beyond conception. The wheels are immovable on' 
the axletree : the diameter of the former, which are solid, is usually but 
three foet ; and their greatest thickness is towards the centre, the cir- 
eomference of the wheel being comparatively narrow, and bound' round 
with iron, which is fixed on with huge nails. The axletree is oi wood, 
and from ten to twelve inches thick ; and this and its wheels move to« 
gether with an abominable squeaking and groaning under the clumsy 
body of the cart, which is shipped (not fixed) on it. 

* As an apology for the hideous noise just mentioned, the peasants 
allege that without it the oxen would not draw so well, or perhaps not at 
alL This may indeed be true, for it is possible to accustom animals 
even to greater absurdities. The carman places himself in front of the 
bullocks' heads, touches or pricks them with his agulhad (goad), and, 
speaking to them at the same time, thus puts them in motion. The equip- 
ment would not be complete if the beasts' heads were unadorned with 
%is asd veronicas ; and the cart itself, to keep off spells, invariably 
di^lays on some part of it that well known specific, aViOT&e-A\o^;: ^^'^^^ 
same emblem of a good kick seems to have operated as abw^e^t cn\t\v^ 
supernatural personages of every people in Europe. 



Tfie Martj/r ,- a Drama. 

' When going along the road, Oie PortugucBe male peasants are ii 
I>ty heard sinking. Love u gBneralt3r the bunhen ol' their doleful dJttl 
fur such they indeed arc, and of a most intolerably dran-Jiag kiud. " 
women also tune up their trehles to no better ellect tlian their tptn 
nothing being no monotonoua as thdr aire, or so diecordant a 
cution of them. The women are, however, by no meoos wanting^L 
or repartee : for on a friend nf mine seeing a saloia going slopg^ 
burro, followed by a string of those animals, and addressing her 
" Adeoii, mai dos burros," Adieu, motlier of asses, she answered i 
diately, " Adeos, meo filho," (Adieu, my son,) with the utmost coolH 
and composure.' — pp.Si!**— 331. "' 

As an appropriate conUniiation of these accounts of the pes 
and their manners, we have, lastly, some very graphic notices 
aspect and architecture of Portuguese hamlets, village-chut^ 
Slc, with accurate descriptions of the country, and of its v 
and hixuriant productions, both in the northern provinces 1 
south of the Tagiis. But we have no space to follow the t 
through these details, nor yet to dwell on his full account o 
execution of the political conspirators of I817t to which we t 
referred, and which closes his original, amusing, and in man^ 
spects very valuable little work. 



Art. VIII. The Martyr; a Drama: in Three Acts, ByJoann^B 

pp.78. London, Longman and Co, 1826. 
UrwAHDS of twenty years have past since Miss Baillie first (J 
before the public, as the author of " Plays on the Passions." 
was a bold venture on the ocean of popularity, and she enCfl 
tered the usual inclemencies of that most perilous and capriflj 
navigation. But if her course was daring, her argosy was str 
built, and in scorn of all impediments she reached the ] 
of Ihine. 

All things are in a perpetual advance to improvement \a thia ^ 
artiiicial world of ours ; and the dexterity of authorship lias inn ^ 
proved like tlie rest No authoi- of the present time, commenci^ , 
a new track of composition, would make the formidable blunder M 
which Miss Baillie was guilty in her veiy outset. The art of our day 
doubly merits the ancient title of a " Mystery." The soul ffl , 
success is found to be secresy : mankind are but children of a laraer 
growth ; and the same passion for discovering things withheld^ 
which makes the delight of a nursery- riddle, wraps up ui solemn 
interest the silliness of a novel of " The Fashionable World," or a 
tiresome and exhausted melange of heavy invention and mangled 
history. 

Mystery is an old source of the sublime ; man is aa inves- 
tigating animal ; and upon those two broad and venerable &und- 
ations is raised the fabric of modern celebrity, — that various 
extrai'agaace of arcJiitectwe, iVom l\ie gMcdof^s 



2%e Martyr ; a Drama. I IS 

uf^ioctions €f fhe ppuknt and feeble adorers of the muse, .pbose or 
)9Qtic^.tQ tii^, solemn aod frowning ponderoosness of jplnadered 
iioiianoe^ koA chronicles forgotten. 

-Misa.BaiUie was blamably ignorant of all this^ and shesuffin^ 
tcoordittglj. Her first volumes, it is true^ did not bear her litthne^ 
M this was from mere female timidity, and, to her mlslolrluti^ 
fhen the timidity wore <^, she allowed her name to appear. The 
step was perhaps that one of all her life which she still considers as 
oiost; uqoier the guidance of her evil star. So long as the name 
Mrasunknown, the authorship was admired. The '^uoveltvof the 
:x)ncepti<»i, the masculine vigour, the natural eloquence, the truth 
of des<5rqition, the poetic fervour,'' in short, all tlie common-places 
of critidsm on the alert to make its handsomest display, were 
lavished on this ^' new competitor of Shakspeare." It has been 
asserted even that a panegyric of the most potential species was 
dready prepared, on suspicion of its being the work of a noble 
eail, high in the distribution of northern office ; and that Shak- 
speare was taught to keep his distance from the ^ more than rival 
paries'' of this illustrious and poetic donor of briefs, coifs, and 
sinecures. But Miss Baillie, having among her feminine virtues 
that one of not being able to keep her own story, broke the spell 
at once. The noble lord and his patronage vanished : the pane- 
gyric was devoted to the lustral fires; and, like the old work of 
witchcraft, a single word had the power to smite the fairy gems and 
silks, the bowers and palaces, into stones and straws, smoke and 
shealings. 

There is nothing so utterly unacquainted with the art of for- 
giving as unprovoked injury. And from the first bite of vindictive 
criticism to the present antipathy ; from the original burnished and 
lofty venom of the pursuer, to this hour of his reluctant dust- 
eating and angry humiliation, the victim has been molested. It 
must always gratify the persecutor to know that his persectttion hai ) 
not been wiUiout effect ; and he may be indulged with the ftct'lbat 
Miss Baillie's career has undoubtedly been thwarted. The natural 
inprovement that practice gives to a vigorous spirit has been with* 
heU : the fear of malignant criticism has checked the heart cxf <a 
woman accustomed to the conventional respect paid to the sex ; and 
we have now, after years of silence, but an offering rather of her 
piety than of her muse, and giving less the character c^ her genius 
than of those feelings which require no aid of genius to make them 
amiable and suitable to her sex and her religion. 

Yet, in all our smcere deprecation of the unlicensed and unjus- 
tifiable harshness with which this author's works were visited, we 
must not disguise our own impression, that Miss Baillie's tragedies 
were not fit to renovate our dying stage. TThey were " dramatic 
poems,'* and no more : they possessed poetic power, noVAe co\)£&\\- 
dcn of character, and Bne imagery. But they wauled l\\e VvnJX- 
oess^ the minute and various identity, and the xvcVi «avA. V«\A. 



The Mailifr ,- a Drama. 

originality essential to the first rank of the tragic draina. 
genius thnt shnll coine commissioned to stand above the | 
thcutric city of tile dead, and bid it awake, must Imve a ■ 
grandeur and a living authority about it, such as we have 
seen. Whether agencies of this rank appear among us at app< 
times, hke the |)eriixt of comets, descending into our ! 
shed fresh influence, and re-iight the decaying fires of the B 
or come with the casual visitation of the flash from the i 
they always vindicate their origi n. It is impossible to mistaksfl 
lor the dubious generation of the lower air : their impression I 
a great scale, and their power is plain, sudden, and irresistiblst 

Miss Baillie's ambition to write a tragetly upon each passion'! 
bold, but it was destitute of all poetic calculation. Not satisfied V 
even the rashness of building tragedies upon those incongruom 
ations, she must hazard the still more hopeless labour of writil 
comody upon each topic. That she failed in this task is not woi 
fiii, for no human powers could be expected to succeed. To a 
single passion for the grand impulse of a tragedy would beasa 
trary to nature as to adopt a single organ for the whole b 
functions oi' man. It was contrary to tne entire nature i 
drama, whose purpose is to exhibit man as he is, the creatUl 
<ill passions, urged by a conflict of powerful impulses, and pU 
liis virtue in the success of the good over the evil, as we placf 
interest of his character in the struggle; — no serene philos 
moving under one master- influence to his secure object, 1 
intellectual champion descending into a field widi danger 
right and left, whose every step must be won by hazard, and ? 
all is dubious till the moment when some grand display of e 
or some brilliant illustration of fortune, places him in the p 
final victory. 

It is allowable that the hero should have a master-passion j^'] 
love, or power, or jealousy, or the thirst of military renown, shoi 
exercise a vigorous and predominant influence over him. But aU 
interest perishes when all doubt is at an end : the unrivalled supre> 
tnacy of any single passion extinguishes all doubt. We musl - 
thenceforth calculate the conclusion without the possibility of error, - 
and without a moment's anxiety. The navigation is no longer 
across an unknown sea, and under capricious and stormy goles. ' 
TJie adventurer goes forward under the sure guidance of an irre- ■ 
sistibte agency, sweeps straight for the harbour, and tranquilly ' 
defies the quicksand and the storm. 

The truth was, that Miss Baillie's performance was in opposition '- 
to her theory : her heroes were not those solitary and unnatural • 
abstractions, those concrete passions and monstrous homogeneities '- 
which she announced them to be. The breast of the lover was open ' 
to other impulses than those of perpetual adoration. Ambition was ■ 
not always burning the heart, nor jealousy dropping into every ore- • 
vice of its sensibilities her overfiowmg gt5\. 'i!WvBa\-wa&Tiia,»te»% 



. TSr Marty i ' aDiama. tW 

ler ■«'WMirifey;*^iAf al* tl»t »aS tiurtWn In WitUr^i VHSffl'ffrte 

■ic8ftlit#IH(ffticing constrtittidn witfiiti, eirti'ac^ed, arifi'lt^^ftijii 
'tu^ 4tfli'the new and solitary ingredient that was'fo' kti^p'tKi 
^^..P'io^ftfer, when it was -ho lottgCT fit for anyplace,' BBC tKe 
^^•c^''l^(J^ tastfe conbeWed Tier theory to grreiray, an& she'bei- 
raiiie n puwerfiil tiTigefliftn b^ the ferce of nature. " ' ' 

Vftth her fine qualities tt is deeply to be regretted that the state 
tif'fhe British stage was such as almost instinctiv^j tu lead tHd 
WMiHg mtlid of a woman into the less sore and splendid path td 
otifellterice. For tfie last two hundred years tragedy had been 
rapidly on the decline. With all our habitual scorn of French 
taste, we had yet submitted to the supremacy of the French tragic 
tlrama. Its stateliness, formality, and coldness, which S&A 
probably Suited the frigidity of those court etiquettes, and other 
smve -afTectadoHs brou^t in by &■ foreign dynasty, had become 
fa^ionatrie; while the true spint of the Bridsh drama was left to 
sleep in' tbe monmnents of Shakspeare and his illustrious contemn 
phniies. All the popular tragedies half a century ago 'were 
trihslations Irom the French. Racine and Voltaire were the idols 
to which OUT freebom necks were summoned to bow, and men like 
Aaron Hill and Murphy were the sole and unhappy resource of 
<itir Melpomaie. 

'""ITje inuMmi was, however, magnificently sustained by a aucces- 
^n of perfbrrners of the first rank. Tlie Mossops, Barrys,, 
Pritchardb, and, pre-eminent ^jove nil of his own 'or any other 
d]ly, Garrick, gave living power to those feeble imitationg, and 
Established the toreigners by an unwilling treachery to their Eng- 
lish tilegiance. Those times were the Augustan age of the Briti% 
ihtaitre. Why they bave left us bo hopeless of their return, why 
the high emoluments of the stage have not been able to attmct 
VDtae spirits of rival talent to tbe spot where they might ex- 
"ttelse BO brilliant a supremacy, or why with our increased popu- 
Ittfion, witli our more extended and general acquirement, and 
n% the more courteous reception of the actor in society, the 
ttage seems to t^e the reverse path of every other public exertion, 
And be determined to perish while every art and science of man and 
nature is assuming a loftier stature, and drinking in new youth At 
the fosnt of pubbc patronage and prosperity, are questions which 
require mwe extended discussioa than we can here bestow upon 
tbem. 

But it is remarkable, that even the popularity of Garrick suf- 
fered, when in the boldness of an innovator he dared to bring 
forward the otd drama, and play Shakspeare. His unrivalled per- 
sonification of that splendid group whom the first of poets had 
less pictured than created, less invested wrth the noble shows and 
Mmbisnce of our nature in its grandeur and beauty, t^sn ¥^\«^ 
■with tbe baling blood and the living soul, thow^ tecftvjeA. ■w\'iV 
admitatioii, yet more than shared its triumpU wVl\\ ■wovV^wViDW 



I 



1 

us. 1 



178 The Martyr ,- a Drama. 

infinite vapidity, lifelcssiiess, and incapability of life, render them a 1 
dishonour equally to llie authorsliip and the taste of our fore- 
fathers. 

Miss Bnillie's homo^ to Sliakspeare ts professed and zealous. 
Yet her model was French. Conscious power is a hazardoUB 
thing : she seemed to have conceived the impracticable ambition oT 
uniting the richness, variety, and strength of tiie old English ver- 
sification wlih the rigidity and singleness of the French plot : she 
might as wisely have attempted to combine the marble terraces, 
regular porterres, and statued fountains of the French garden, with 
the sweeping majesty of the forest, covering the mountain with its 
sheets of verdure, and with the cataract thundering through its 
shade. 

To aim at perpetual effect, to hate every thing but the grand, to 
make tiie casual and adventitious portion of the character the 
substitute for the whole nature of the man, has been the declared 
and the fotal error of tiie French stage. Its hero must be always 
a hero; its king must always wear the crown upon his brow; iu j 
lover must be a perpetual victim of the passion. We remember a I 
remark illustrative of this national misconception made by the % 
first of living French actors on Kean's Richard, where in his " 
ominous depression before the battle he stands drawing lines in the ■ 
dust with his sword. " That is not what a great General would 
do," was the remark : " would the Duke of Wellington be walk- ? 
ing before his tent with his sword making plans of the manceuvres? * 
He would have recollected his own dignity, and been the General ' 
throughout." This is tlie secret principle of the system. The ' 
Frenchman's Richard would have been the General and K.iag, and ' 
nothing more. The man would have been forgotten. The casual " 
character of office which must so often pass away from the mind, ' 
and which the more customary use would probably render the .' 
more feeble in its impression, was in this criticism to supersede ■ 
the innate and perpetual character of the man. For one hour " 
during whicli a king or a General might feel himself filled witli the - 
spirit of the sceptre or the truncheon, there must be many a one 
when he felt only that he was a human being liable to the common 
impulses, anxieties, and wants of our general nature. Richard,' ' 
musing on the eventfulness of the coming morning, and filled with i 
unwonted melancholy at the caprices of fortune, differed in nothing 
from the nameless myriads who have like Iiim stood in sight of 
ruin. In that mood he was neither king nor leader; but a man, 
and a weak and weary minded one. The Frenchman would have i 
seated him in liis council of war, dazzling in perpetual panoply, 
issuing ceaseless despatches and commands, strained, stately, and 
regal to the moment when he was struck from throne and life ' 
together. But Shakspeare knew what was in the heart of man, i 
ami Oie actor deseived the high praise of comprehending Shakr 



sa eai 



The Martjp* ; a Drama. 179 

In the British drama there is no deficiency more £Eital than that 
of what is technically called ^^ business*" Of this there is an acifial 
plenitude in all the real transactions of courts, and that influential 
and lofty region of society in which mreat catastrophes are gener- 
ated. If we are not habitually let into the secrets of the whole 
operation, we are at least taught that a variety of agencies and im- 
pulses must have been combined before the roar and combustion of 
the elements burst or blaze upon us. But the continued and in- 
creasing curiosity essential to the triumph of the drama can be 
kept up only by a continued and rapid succession of events, growing 
in magnitude as they advance, and flashing new lights upon each 
other, up to the moment of general and consummate illustration* 
It is remarkable how unconscious Miss Baillie seems to have been 
of this pre-eminent necessity. With a powerful imagination, and 
with an obvious knowledge of human nature, she yet carries on her 
plot by some disjointed, improbable, and tardy series of events : 
the drama langui^es in the midst of its rich and many-coloured 
declamation, and the characters seem condemned to die, like fine 
gentlemen, of having nothing to do. 

Another hazardous disqualification is to be found in the nature 
of her style. Her verse has great force and beauty ; yet it may 
have these, and not be fit for the peculiar enunciation of the stage; 
Brevity, not amplitude; intensity, not pomp; clearness, not laborious 
turbidness, are the true requisites for that poetry which is to be felt 
in even tjie stormv action of the stage, and the huiried utterance of 
the actor. Of this versification, tragedy, fi*om the days of Dryden, 
exhibits scancely an example. Drynesa and ddbility, statdy mono- 
ttoj, «il ri^ measure, aU the characteristics of the foreign school, 
divested of Its polished elegance and critical accuracy, formed the 
^jl distinctions of our stage poetry. A better taste has followed^ 
and the elder dramatists are at length the acknowledged authorities 
on versification ; but the modem specimens are too few, and too 
little known, to allow of our assuming the praise of a genuine 
reform in the noble language of tragedy. 

The result of these remarks is, tha4; Miss Baillie misnamed her 
plays when she gave thein the title of tragedies. They are tragic 
po^ns, incapable of being transferred to the stage^ (as the fate of 
one of the most theatric among them may have already convinced 
her,) bat, in their proper class, exhibitii^ a combination of natural 
vigour and cultivated taste, of lofty conception and rythmical beauty, 
altogether unequalled among the female writers of England. 

A proqiinent 'feature in her early works, and one most honour- 
able to her heart and understanding, was a strong sense of piety. 
It sometimes marred the po^ic prowess of her genius, and en- 
feebled the colouring that was to make the warrior or the statesman 
start from the canvass ; but it consecrated the work) atvd Xjo \\ssi d\^ 
nity added yirtae. Miss Baillie has at length produced a dtBXxvdXxt^ 
poem in which religion is the paramount principle ; reW^t^^ ^c«toA^ 

N 2 ' 



The Martyr ,- a Dravia. 



1 



as & form of belief, and still less as the common pretext for the pre- 

i'udices, violences, and ambitions of sects or sovereigns, but, in its 
lighest state, as * grown from a principle into an affection, an ex- 
alted, adoring devotion, and thus entitled to be regarded as the 
greatest and noblest emotion of the heart.' We may well leave to 
her own eloquence the description of the ' Martyr.' 

' The Martyr, whom I have endeavoured to pourtray, ia of a claw 
which I believe to have beea very rare, except in the tirst ages of 
Christianity. There have been many martyrs in the wodil. Some 
have sacrificed their lives for the cause of reformation in the churcfa, 
with the zeal and benevolence of patriotism : some for the maintenance 
of its ancient doctrines and rites, with the courage of soldiers in the 
breach of their beleaguered city : some far intricate points of doctrine, 
with the fire of controvertista, and the honour of men who disdained 
to compromise what they believed to be the truth, or under impressions 
of conscience which they durst not disobey ; but, from the pure devoted 
love of God, as the great Creator and benevolent Parent of men, few 
have suffered but when Christianity was in its simplest and most perfect 
state, and more immediately contrasted with the mean, cheerless eon- 
ceptions and popular fables of Paganism. 

' We may well imagine that, compared to the heathen deities, those 
partial patrons of nations and individuals, at discord amongst them- 
selves, and invested with the passions and frailties of men, the great 
and only God, Father of all mankind, as revealed in the Christian faith, 
must have been an idea most elevating, delightful, and consonant to 
every thing noble and generous in the human understanding or heart. 
Even to those who, from the opinions of their greatest philosopher!, 
had soared above vulgar belief to one universal God, removed in his 
greatness from all care or concern for his creatures, the character of 
the Almighty God and beneficent parent joined, who cares for the 
meanest of his works, must have been most animating and sublime, 
supposing them to be at the same time unwarped by the toils and pride 
of learning.' — pp. v. vi. 

After some striking remarks on the sources of the Pagan perse- 
cution, and the invincible fortitude of the early Christians, among 
whom were many of the Roman soldiery, she assigns her reasons for 
making a soldier the hero of her work. They are rather fantastic, 
but their language ought to preserve them. 

* It was indeed natural that the invincible fortitude of those holy 
sufferers, fronting death with such noble intrepidity, should attract the 
admiration and sympathy of the generous and brave, whose pride it 
was to meet death undauntedly in a less terrific form; and we may 
easily imagine also, that a generous and elevated mind, under the 
immediate pressure of such odious tyranny as some of the Roman 
empet'ors exercised on their senators and courtiers, would turn from 
this humiliating bondage to that promise of a Father's house in which 
there are many mansions, and turn to it with most longing and earnest 
aspirations. The brave man, bred in the camp and die field, enconi' 
' wilh hardships and dangers, would be \\V.v\e encumbered with 
' philosophy, therefore more open lo cotwKccwnx-, Bj\i 



^*^|U 



The Martyr ; a Drama. \%\ 

urned from the Bcenes of his distant warfare, would more indignantly 
)mit to the ciq[>riciou8 will of a voluptaous master. These consider- 
ons have led me to the choice of my hero, and have warranted me 
representing him as a noble Roman soldier : — one whose mind is 
ed with adoring awe and admiration of the sublime, but parental 
u-acter of the Deity, which is for the first time unfolded to him by 
\ early teachers of Christianity ; — one whose heart is attracted by 
} beautiful purity, refinement, and benignant tenderness, and by the 
iffable generosity of him who visited earth as his commissioned Son, 
attracted powerfully, with that ardour of affectionate admiration 
lich binds a devoted follower to his glorious chief.' — pp. xi. xii. 

The scene opens with a dialogue between Sulpicius, a senator, 
d Orceres, a Parthian prince residing at Rome. The latter (a 
igular love-messenger) is commissioned to communicate to Cor- 
nius Maro, an officer of the Imperial Guard, the Senator's choice 
him as a son-in-law. 

* Art thou so well convinced — 
He loves my. little 'damsel ? — She is fair. 
But seems to me too simple, gay, and thoughtless, 
For noble Maro. Heiress as she is 
To all my wealth, had I suspected sooner, 
That he had smothered wishes in his breast 
As too presumptuous, or that she in secret 
Preferred his silent homage to the praise 
Of any other man, I had most frankly 
Removed all hindrance to so fair a suit. 
For, in these changeling and degenerate days, 
I scarcely know a man of nobler worth.' p. 4. 

The Parthian assigns public duty at some of the mart3rrdoms as 
3 cause of the lover's absence; and to the Senator's observation 
their * contumacy' answers : 

' There's sorcery in it, or some stronger power. 
But be it what it may, or good or ill. 
They look on death m its most dreadful form. 
As martial heroes on a wreath of triumph. 
The fires are kindled in the place of death. 
And bells toll dismally. The life of Rome 
In one vast clust'ring mass hangs round the spot. 
And no one to his neighbour utters word. 
But in an alter'd voice ; with breath restrain'd. 
Like those who speak at midnight near the dead. 
Cordenius heads the band that guards the pile ; 
So stationed, who could speak to him of pleasure ? 
For it would seem as an ill-omen'd thing.' p. 5. 

Portia, the daughter of Sulpicius, now enters, bringing or rfrflg- 
\g after her, as the author hardily phrases it, her Numidian page, 
om she orders to sing the following song, a secret tribute to her 
er. We give this as Miss Baillie's latest lyric. 



( 



B2 The Martyr ,- « Drama. 

* The storm is gathering far and wide, 
Yan mortal hero niuet abide. 
Power on enrth, and power in air. 
Falchion's gleam and lightning's glare ; 
Arrows hurtling thro' the blast; 
Stones from flaming meteor cast : 
Floods from burthc-nM skies are pouring. 
O'er mingled strife of battle roaring ; 
Nature's rage and demon's ire, 
Belt him round with turmoil dire : 
Noble hero ! earthly wight ! 
Brace theo bravely for tlie fight. 
' And so, indeed, thou tak'st tliy stand, 
Shield on arm and glaive in hand ; 
Breast encased in burnish'd steel, 
Helm on head, and pike on heel; 
And, more than meets the outward eye, 
The soul's high-temper'd panoply, 
Which every limb for action lightens, . 
The form dUates, the visage brightens : 
Thus art thou, lofty, mortal wight ! 
Full nobly hamess'd for the figlit.' 
Cordenius at length comes on the scene. He has been deep 
moved by the constancy of the martyrs, at whose deaths he li 
been present- 

• There is some power in this, or good or ill. 
Surpassing nature. ' When the soul is roused 
To desp'rate sacrifice, 'tis ardent passion, 
Or high exalted virtue that excites it. 






Can loathsome deraonry in dauntless bearing 
Outdo the motives of the lofty brave ? 
It cannot be ! There in some power in this 
Mocking all thought — incomprehensible. 

[Remains for a momeiU silent and ikougktfid, while Sylvi 
enters behind hint unperceived. 
Delusion ! ay, 'tis said the cheated sight 
Will see unreal things ; the cheated ear 
List to sweet sounds that are not-; even the ret 
Maintain conclusions wild and inconsistent. 
We hear of this i — the weak may be deluded ; 
But is the learn'd, th' enlighten'd, noble Varus 
The victim of delusion ?' pp. 16, 17. 

In this dubiousness he is found by Sylvius, a centurion and 
Christian convert, who, after a brief exposition of his principles, 
vites Cordenius to one of tlie secret meetings of the brethren. 

' At fall of eve, I'll meet thee in the suburb, 
Close to the pleasure-garden of Sulpicius 
Where in a bushy crevice of the rock 
There is an entry to the catacombs. 
Known but to few. 



i 




ne Martyr ; a Drama. 183 

* Cowkmuu Ha I to the catacombs'! 

* &flviHSm A dismal place, I own, but heed not that ; 
For there thoult learn what, to thy ardent mind. 
Will make this world but as a thorny pass 

To regions of delight ; man's natural life 

With all its varied turmoil of ambition, 

But as the training of a wayward child 

To manly excellence ; yea, death itself 

But as a painful birth to life unending. 

The word eternal has not to thine ears. 

As yet, its awful, ample sense conveyed.* p. 20. 

A. day and two nights elapse, devoted to the conversion, and in 
commencement of the second act Cordenius comes deeply 
)ued with the knowledge of the Faith. He expresses the sud- 
I unfolding of truth on his mind, and the total and illustrious 
LOge of his fedings by a series of glowing similitudes. His 
mtion is deeply excited by the procession of Christians bringing 
ashes of the martyrs. They sing a solemn hymn, 
rhese topics are varied for a moment by the appearance of Por- 
coming to pay her vows to the goddess of flowers. The young 
^n alludes to the influence of this mythological divinity in the 
ciful spirit which of old peopled every breeze, and stream, and 
3 with its protecting genius. 

* Full many a time I've listen'd when alone 
In such fair spots as this, and thought 1 heard 
Sweet mingled voices uttering varied tones 
Of question and reply, pass on the wind, 
And heard soft steps upon the ground ; and then 
The notion of bright Venus or Diana, 
Or goddess-n3rmphs, would come so vividly 
Into my mind, that I am almost certain 
Their radiant forms were near me, tho' conceal'd 
By subtle drapery of the ambient air. 
And oh, how I have long'd to look upon them ! 
An ardent strange desire, tho' mix'd with fear. 
Nay, do not smile, my father : such fair sights 
Were seen — were often seen in ancient days ; 
The poets tell us so. 

But look, the Indian roses I have foster'd 
Are in full bloom ; and I must gather them.' pp. 38, 39. 

brdenius returns in strong agitation at the new influx of feeling 
truth that has rushed upon hb soul. Portia's father offers 
ber hand : he is delighted at the prospect, yet betrays a solemn 
ety, which rapidly leads to the conclusion, that he has been 
enced by the new doctrines. Abjuration is demanded by the 
itor, as the test of the lover's worthiness. It is firmly refused, 
thodes, a Greek, has now been seized as a Christian. His 
ces to the ^eat cause make the breUireu eminen\\.^ «\mo\i% 
is preservBtion, Chrdenius has commanded t]|[ie goacd. on^t\^ 

N 4 



184 The Martyr .- a Drama. 

dungeon, and bas secretly determined to perish for Iiim. An im- 
pei'ial council is held for the destruction of the converts, and 
Ethocles is to be the first victim. Cordenius comes, disguised, in 
his place, flings aside his cloak, and declares himself the voluntary 
substitute of the Greek preacher. On Nero's pronouncing that he 
must be a maniac, the soldier then avows his pure and lofty convic- 
tions. His death is now inevitable, Nero is in the amphitheatre, 
Portia and her father are present, vainly supplicating the tyrant for 
the life of the martyr. Cordenius approaches undismayed, 

' Salpieius. Is he advancing ? 

' NiJik Roman. Yes, and close at hand. 
Surrounded by a group of martial friends. 
Of^ have I seen him on a day of battle 
March lo the charge whh noble portly gait, 
But now he treads the ground with buoyant steps 
Which from its surface spring, as tlio' lie press'd 
Substance of renovating power. His form 
Seems stately and enlarged beyond its wont ; 
And in his countenance, oft tum'd to heaven. 
There is a look as if some god dwelt in him. 

' Sulpicias. How do the people greet him ? 

' Noble Romatu Every face 
Gazing upon him, turns, with transit quick. 
Pity to admiration. Warhke veterans 
Are shedding tears like infants. As he passed 
The legion he commanded in Armenia, 
They raised a shout as if a victor came. 
Saluting him with long and loud applause. 
None daring to reprove diera.' pp. 69, 70. 

Cordenius is about to be exposed to a lion, when his friend Orcerc?. 
indignant at this base death of so eminent a soldier, sends an arrov 
through him. 

' Orceres. Have I done well, my friend? — this is a death 
More worthy of a Roman. 
I made a vow in secret to my heart, 
That thou shouldst ne'er be made a mangled sight 
For gazing crowds and Nero's ruthless eye. 

' Sylvixu. That dying look, which almost smiles upOD thee. 
Says that thou hast done well ; tho' words no more 
IMay pass from these closed lips, whose last, hless'd utterance 
Was the soul's purest and subliraest impulse.' p. 76- 

We shall not now advert to the obvious irregularities of tliis 
poem. The introduction of the Parthian, selected apparently for 
no other reason than the national skill in archery ; the improbabi- 
lity of the scene with Nero ; the hurried conversion, and the brief 
efforts of Portia's love : — but looking upon the ' Marljr' as merely 
a dramatic sketch of a very extensive and absoibing subject, we 
mast give its nh-eady highly distinguished mithor the upraise of hav- 
^^ff done, at leasts flft "" '"' ' "' ' — '^' — '" ^~"" 



185 

Art. IX. Travds and Adventures in the Persian Prtmnees an ike 
Southern Banks of the Caspian Sea. With an Appendix, contMnin|^ 
short Notices on the Greology and Commerce of Persia. Bj Jame» 
B. Fraser. . 4to. pp. 384. London. Longman and Co. 1826^ 

Mr. Fraser has already made as acquainted with a considerable 
portion of the least civilised provinces of Persia in the very in- 
teresting narrative of his journey into Khorasan.* The present 
work takes up the history of his travels at the point where the 
former ended, and conducts the author from Astrabad, at the south- 
east corner of the Caspian sea, through the provinces of Mazun- 
deran and Gheelan, which border its southern shores, to Tabreez, 
the seat of the goviemment of Abbas Meerza, Prince-Royal of 
Persia. The nature of the country, and the state of its population, 
afforded a much more limited field of enquiry than Mr. Fraser 
found in the earlier part of his journey ; but it was a field, never- 
theless, that deserved his attention, though not, perhaps, at the 
expense of such severe difRculties, sufferings, and dangers as those 
which he experienced in his examination of it. 

Indeed, the author's personal adventures form too large a portion 
of the volume before us. They tended, it is true, to elicit a good deal 
of the character of the people amongst whom they occurred ; but, 
in other respects, they are not particularly attractive. They are 
made up, for the most part, of little details, which, however im- 
portant to the individual whom they chiefly afiected, are of little 
value to the reader. They have none of that romantic colouring 
which one expects to find in a story of adventures upon the banks 
of the Caspian sea : they leave a disagreeable impression on the 
mind, on account of the indignities which the author sufiered ; and 
they are narrated in a loose, fretful, and garrulous style, that is by 
no means calculated to redeem their original dulness. 

The information, however, which Mr. Fraser has collected with 
his usual industry, under disadvantages and privations of the most 
disheartening and painful description, concerning two provinces so 
little known to us as Mazunderan and Gheelan, is, in some respects, 
novel and important. Had the volume possessed somewhat more 
of the raciness and animation that are to be found in honest Jonas 
Hanway's account of his travels on the shores of the Caspian, we 
should have liked it much better : but it has an air of accuracy, and 
a sort of business-like look, which compensate, in some measure, 
for die absence of other qualifications. The descriptions of the 
country, and its villages and cities, are clear and unlaboured, al- 
thon^ it is evident enough that the author's love of the picturesque 
was Seqviently not a little depressed by the sufferings to which he 
wa3 9p undeservedly exposed. 



* See the Monthly Review, vol. cvii. p. S\^* 



186 Fraser\ Travels on the liaiilcs of the Cnspimi. 

In the narrative of his journey into Khurasan, Mr. Fraser dfr 
scribed the course of his trnvels until lie readied Astrabad, which 
he entered on the 6th of April, 1822. He was accompanied Iw 
Meerza Abd-ool-Rezak, a Persian ' of good family, considerable 
liberahty of sentiment, and respectable mental endowments,' and 
itltendetl by a neyro and four native servants. Astrabad, if it 
resemble most of the cities in Persia, by being, as to the greater 
part of it, in a ruinous condition, is unlike them in every other 
respect. The houses are built more in the Indian than the Persian 
taste, the roofs consisting of red tiles, or thatch, and projecting 
considerably beyond the walls. Several of the houses are dis- 
tinguished by the addition of lofty square towers, having openings 
on each side, for the purpose of admitting the air into the rooms 
beneath ; and most of the better order are surrounded by trees and 
extensive gardens, which produce an agreeable effect. The streets 
are paved with stone, and exhibit an appearance of cleanliness and 
neatness rarely to be met with in the southern provinces. Astrabad, 
however, though a port of the Caspian sea, has little trade, and 
yields but an inconsiderable revenue to the royal treasury; and the 
impenetrable thickets and forests which are suffered to remain un- 
touched in its immediate neighbourhood render it, by their ex- 
halations, one of the most unwholesome towns in the Persian 
dominions. 

After sojourning about a fortnight at Astrabad, Mr. Fraser set out 
for Saree, the capital of Mazunderun, taking advantage, where it was 
possible to do so, of the famous causewayed road constructed under 
the active, enterprising, and enlightened reign of Shah Abbas. The 
soil of the provinces bordering on the Caspian is rendered so deep 
and miry by the heavy rains which fall there during many months 
of the year, that, without such a road, the overland communication 
between those provinces would be impeded in the winter. It was 
formed originally with great care, but Mr, Fraser found it almost in 
ruins. His course was northward of west, and led him sometimes 
through thick jungles, formed of lofty forest-trees, or of thorns, 
brambles, and wild pomegranates, sometimes through hamlets 
prettily situated, whose chief core seemed to be the cultivation of 
the mulberry. Of the more considerable villages little was to be 
seen, as the houses were scattered in groups of two or three among 
a great extent of jungle; and one would think that he was still 
riding through the forest, but for the little columns of smoke which 
he sees here and there issuing from among the trees. The women 
do not conceal themselves in these villages so strictly as in other 
parts of Persia. Many of them were observed to be handsome, 
though their beauty fades at an early age. The inhabitants are 
generally distrustfiil and inhospitable, probably on account of their 
vicinity to the Toorkomans, whose irregular notions of property are 
proverbial. 



1 



Fraset^s Travels on the Banks of ike Caspian. 187 

Mr. Fraser found the condition of the famous palace of Ashrufl^ 
its gardens, fountains, and cascades, which are so enthusiastically 
described by Hanway, wretchedly changed. These abodes of the 
splendour and luxury of Shah Abbas are now so decayed, that it is 
di£Scult even to trace their former existence. 

' It is impossible, I think, to traverse these ruins without experienc- 
ing very powerfully the emotions which scenes of vanished pomp and 
pleasure ever awaken ; indeed, I do not remember to have experienced 
them often in a stronger degree. The old man who accompanied us 
was minute and eloquent in his narrations, the ruins themselves were 
extensive and majestic, and at every turn there were points of reminis- 
cence, hints as it were of past realities, which, like the sharp and mas- 
terly touches of a fine picture, seemed to bring the past more freshly 
before us. I could fancy that I saw the actual traces of the gallant and 
magnificent monarch, who, whatever might be his faults to his own sub- 
jects, was always the friend and protector of Europeans, always liberal 
in his sentiments, and enlightened in his policy ; the patron of science, 
the encourager of all improvement, the Lewis XIV. of Persia. I was 
carried back in imagination to those times when the great Shah Abbas 
had given and part^en of many joyous feasts in this very palace ; many 
scenes of deep interest, many too doubtless of dark atrocity, had passed 
within these walls. Many a lovely form had here sighed for liberty, or 
for the lover from whose arms she had been torn to suffer the cold em- 
braces of a despot, perhaps but to be immured in his harem. But all 
were gone — monarcn and captive, the palace and the prison, alike 
erumbled to the dust, and the most sacred spot contaminated by the 
feet of infidel strangers.* -— pp. 22, 23. 

There are the remains of many objects of interest in the neigh- 
bourhood of Ashruff, but in such a state of ruin, that they scarcely 
rqpay the attention of the traveller. The situation, commanding a 
finie view of the Caspian and of the neighbouring country, was 
worthy of the expenditure lavished upon it by Shah Abbas. From 
this place Mr. Fraser pursued his journey through Nica and the 
plains of Gorgaun to Saree, where he arrived on the 21st of April, 
and Was comfortably lodged, by the governor's order, in the house 
of Raiiizaun Beg, a gentleman distinguished for his taste in domestic 
architecture. It happened that the room allotted to our traveller, 
though quite a hijou in its way, was conveniently accessible only by 
means of a crazy ladder placed outside the window. The house 
itself however, and the author's treatment in it, afforded a good 
practical iUustration of a Persian's notions of comfort and hospitality, 
and, indeed, of the superficial character of every thing which he saw 
in that country. 

' The house, in so far as it met the eye, was good, comfortable, 
and clfsan, and the rooms of reception were neat, and even elegant. 
The walls were nicely plastered, and adorned with devices in stucco ; 
the windows were carved, and coloured in forms like those eK\\iVA\.^^ 
in the kaleidoscope. 'Sumerous niches in the waiUs Nvete ^W.^^ x^;:^ 
with velvet and gold-worked coverings. A hanAsotne ^te-'^Va.c^ oe^xx.- 



1S8 Fraso^s Travels on tJie Banh qfihc Catjiian. 

pied one side, beautiful numuds • and rich carpets were spread abo»e 
Indian mats on the floor. But the moment these rooms were paBsed, 
the bare bricks and unplastered walls stared you in the face ; the pas- 
aages and staircases were so narrow that two persons could hardly pass 
each other, and every thing looked slovenly and unfinished. The ap- 
uroach from without was by a dirty lane, so narrow, that a man on 
iiorseback could not reach the door ; on either side of which were 
heaps of broken bricks and earth, dirt, and pools of green or slimy 
water. Yet, before the windows, were little gardens neatly laid out in 
walks, shrubs, and beds of flowers ; and beyond the town-wall might be 
seen a flne prospect of the plains and mountains. The lodging assigned 
to the principal guest was comfortable enough ; but the servants of that 
guest had hardly a place to lay their heads on, or to protect bis baggage 
from the weather. We dined on good pillaw, but our servants had 
often not even dry bread to put in their mouths, unless their master gave 
them money to pay for it ; and as to his horses, they had neither shet- • 
ter nor food, not even a place where they might stand upon dry ground.' 
— pp. 34., 35. 

By a fiction of law, the stranger in Persia is said to be the guest 
of the King, and, wherever he goes, lodging and entertainment are 
supposed to be provided tor him by the public authorities at the 
expense of the government. But the traveller generally finds this 
sort of hospitality much more disagreeable and costly than If he 
were at liberty to make out his own quarters. The host is dis- 
pleased at having a foreigner, as it were, billetted upon him ; and 
the oiBcial people expect in presents ten times the amount of the 
most extravagant bill which the guest would have had to pay at a 
public inn, if such an institution were In existence. Sometimes 
Englishmen have endeavoured to carry into effect their independent 
practice of paying at private houses for every thing which they re- 
quired ; but the Persians are not yet arrived at this degree of civilis- 
ation : they suspect it is but a trick, used for the purpose of inducing 
them to bring forth their best fare, and they refiiae to profit of it. 
In many respects, however, Ramzaun Beg was an exception to the 
generality of Persian hosts. Though warm in his temper, and 
somewhat peevish, he treated his guest with' great attention and 
benevolence. 

The province of Mazunderan is governed by Mahomed Koolee 
Meerza, the third son of the King. Saree, the seat of his residence, 
is a city of great antiquity, but inferior, both in extent and appear- 
ance, to Astrabad, The bazars arc miserable, the walls and fortiti- 
Cfitions contemptible, and the palace far from magnificent. It has 
five colleges, a number which one is surprised to find in a situation 
so remote from the capital. Here, also, is a curious tower, resem- 
bling, in its style and architecture, those which the author described 
in his travels through Khorasan. It is hollow through its whole 

' » Numuds arc thick carpets of felt, which are sometimes highly 
oroameated with dowers, and other dev'kcea, m vatvaus coWu^.' 



Fraset's Travels oii the Banks of the Caspian. 189 



-.'>•■ ;. •? *. 



height} which is about one hundred feet ; its internal diameter \k 
sotpewfaat less than thirty. Its shape is cylindrical, with a Gonicii 
roof ^men in the centre, which seems to have been surmounted l^ 
sDme rartber work. Fvom inscriptions found upon it, it is suj^posed, 
with every appearance of probability, to have been a tomb. Hallway 
set it down as one of the temples of the ancient fire-worshippers. 
It is now used as a glass-house. Mr. Fraser mentions a popultit 
tradition concerning it, which is perfectly Oriental. 

< Among the popular traditioas held with regard to this tower, it is 
supposed to be the repository of a mighty treasure secured by a power- 
ful talisman, the secret for obtaining which was discovered by an In- 
dian magician of great skill ; but the conditions of the talisman not 
permitting him to act in person, he employed an agent, like Aladdin, 
ignorant of the business on which he was sent. To this person the 
magician entrusted the counterparts of the talisman, which he was care- 
fully to compare with that which he should see in the tower, but he 
was cautioned particularly against casting his eyes upwards, whatever 
he might hear going on. The messenger acted according to his instruc- 
tions, and the moment he had compared the talismans the spell oper- 
ated ; a mighty rushing noise took place, and a prodigious number of 
pigeons flew out of the open archway. This flight, however, continued 
80 long, that the messenger, weaned with conjecture, forgot the caution, 
and looked upwards ; upon which the flight of birds suddenly ceased, 
and a quantity of golden coin came tumbling about his ears. The spoil 
had turned the gold into pigeons, which winged their way tp the magi- 
cian's coffers ; but it was broken by thq curiosity of his agent, and tne 
gold was so suddenly restored to its original shape, that even the por- 
tion passing in the air fell to the ground ; and no one, since that hour, 
has been able to discover the remainder of the treasure.' — p. 44. 

The climate of Mazunderan is said upon the whole to be humid. 
The heaviest and most continued rains fall from December to 
April, but the accessions of heat or cold are extremely capricious. 
Sometimes in what is called the winter, the heat is so excessive, 
that the inhabitants are obliged to throw oflT their furs, which, on 
the other hand, they are often compelled to resume in the midst of 
sununer, on account of the severe cold which prevails. This extreme 
uncertainty of the climate produces many diseases, the most com- 
mon of which are rheumatisms, dropsies, and complaints in the 
eyes. The disposition of the inhabitants is represented as by no 
means amiable. They hold a " Kaffer Feringhee," an unbelieving 
Frank, as ' unworthy of their slightest attention. They look upon 
themselves as persons of infinite importance, which is not to be 
wondered at, as they are ignorant of every thing that exists beyond 
their own province. Their colleges, therefore, must be founded on 
a narrow ^system of education, or rather, perhaps, they are too 
much devoted to those metaphysical speculations about the mys- 
teries of our nature, which have long been such ?avo\xt\\fe ^\i^%.0» 
of mutation in the East Their intolerance o? axv^ foxta «t ««ew 



r 



Pi-asci's Travels on the Hanks of the Caspian. 



idea oF religion, save tlint which they themselves practise, is carried 
to a degree always dangerous, and sometimes even fatal to stran- 
gers. The Moullalis, or teamed men, ore particularly ingenious 
in engaging a foreigner in theological controversy, and spare 
no means to have the best of the argument. The inhabitants 
of Mazunderau are of a more swarthy complexion than those of 
the more southern provinces of Persia. The features of the pea- 
santry are high, hard, and brown, and remind one of the High- 
landers of Scotland. 

Mr. Fraser gives some curious and interesting particulars of the 
private life of his host Ramzaun Beg, who, it appears, in religion, 
was prone to sooffeeism, or free-tli in Icing, and in politics somewhat 
of an oppositionist. He had been formerly a wealthy person, but 
the frequent spoliations of the Prince-Governor diminished his 
wealth very considerably. 

' " I was rich and happy," he pathetically coniplaias to his guest, 
" and he (the Prince) has reduced mo to poverty and wretchedness. I 
had houses and posEessions : I had thirty capital horses in my stable; 
with gold and silver furniture to match them. I had a thousand pieces 
of china in ray warehouse ; with rich silk, shawls of Cashmere, carpetd 
of Herat, dishes and equipages of gold and of silver ; in short, every 
thing complete in my establishment. I was happy to be always sur- 
rounded by my friends, and to entertain strangers as my guests, I de- 
lighted in making rich preEcnts, and in returning threefold what was 
presented to me. But now, all is gone, and the mortification of having 
suffered so much ingratitude alone remains. I am disgusted at seeing 
my substance constantly devoured by those wlio neither cared for me 
nor were even invited by me, and have pulled down my stables, and 
disposed of my horses. I have also given 'Up all my houses except thin 
small one, and permanently reduced my establishment, which 1 could no 
longer afford to maintain. And now ray heart is cold ; I have done 
with the world ; I neither sect nor will accept of service, Tliey call 
me nazir of the zenanah * ; but I do not act, nor does the Prince care 
that I should. He has plenty of new and more favourite servants, and 
dislikes the sight of one whom he has so deeply injured, and frora whom 
be can now hope for no advantage. I have no more money, nor do I 
wish to obtain it. 1 live as I can, on the wreck of my possessions, and 
do not desire to hoard that which would at last go only to enrich an 
ungrateful master." ' — p. 60. 

During his stay at Suree Mr. Fraser was called upon to display 
his skill as a physician (a character which he occasionally found it 
useful to assume) in behalf of the Prince's sister, who was sup- 
posed to be in a dangerous state of illness. He of course could do 
nothing for her witliout seeing her, but the Prince and her husband 
would not permit this. Indeed it was evident that they would rather 
allow her to be taken to the other world than to be seen by a 

' * Seraglio, female cBti^hBhtncnt.' 



Fraset's Travels on the Banks of the Caspian. 191 

foreigner. After examining die little that was worthy of attrition 
in Saree or its vicinity, our traveller quitted it on the 4th of May^ 
and proceeded on his course westward, still by the causeway, which 
he here found in a deplorable condition. The horses were fre- 
quently immersed to the girth in water, as the road had sunk below 
tbe level of the surrounding country, which was a universal marsh, 
owing to the great supply of water necessary for the irrigation erf 
the rice-fields that extend as far as Balfroosh. This town, which 
is about thirty miles from Saree, is remarkable for the bustle and 
show of business which it exhibits. It is peopled chiefly by mer- 
chants and mechanics, and is marked by appearances of commer- 
cial prosperity which are rarely to be seen in Persia. Yet, as the 
author remarks, it is not particularly favoured in point of situation. 
On the contrary, every thing would seem to conspire against it ; 
the country around it is low and swampy ; the roads are even in 
fine weather almost impassable, and its port on the Caspian, which 
is about twelve miles distant, is little better than an open roadstead. 
The plain, however, in which it is situated, is extremely fertile, and 
' it is centrically placed with regard to Casween, Tehran, Shah- 
rood, and the interior of Persia, (being near two principal passes 
through the Elburz,) as well as to Resht, the capital of Gheelan, 
also a place of very exU^nsive trade.' Another great advantage 
which it possesses consists in its freedom from the interference 
of the expressive rulers of the country. It is governed by a 
merchant, and moderately taxed. How long it may remain so is 
a question which the author is unable to solve. He thinks such 
a stiate of things is too happy to last long in Persia. The town is 
compared to Ispahan for size by the inhabitants. Mr. Eraser cal- 
culates the population at two hundred thousand. Its bazars are 
more extensive than those of Ispahan, and much better filled. It 
has between twenty and tliirty colleges, and is celebrated for the 
mimber and eminence of its learned men. During his stay at 
Balfroosh our author's medicinal skill was put to the test by crowds 
of sick people soliciting his advice and assistance. He observed 
that affections of the eyes were particularly prevalent, owing, it is 
supposed^ tb tbe continual and exclusive use of rice as food, — 
a cause which is said to produce similar effects in Egypt. Tbe 
Moollahs he found tinctured deeply with the principles of soof- 
feebm. Their conversation chiefly turned on * the extraordinary 
and involuntary passions which so peculiarly mark and belong to 
this state of mind,' and upon ^ the existence of such aspirations in 
the land of Franks, particularly among the mysterious brotherhood 
of firee-masons !' 

From Balfroosh Mr. Fraser proceeded on the lOtb of May, on 
his way to Resht, the capital of Gheelan, passing by Amol, the 
classic scene of Ferdoussee's heroic poem, and along me ^eaA^eaj^ 
through AUeeabad Our traveller remarks, that duTvjig \Vvvs V^wx- 
ney on its banks he frequently tasted the water of the Cas^vaxv> «xv^ 



i 



Fiasci's Travels oti the Banks of the t'aspian. 

Ibuiid it in most instances barely brackish, and sometimes so fresh 
that hrs horses would drink it readily. TTiis is dou[)tless owing to 
the numerous large streams which flow into it from the mountains of 
Mazunderan and Gheelan, though it has been said by persons who 
have made passages to Asti-akan ' that even in the parts furthest 
from shore the water is by no means very salt.' In the course of 
his progress towards Resht Mr. Fraser learned some particulars of 
the metliod used for producing rice in this counlry, which may not 
prove aTIogether uninteresting to ihe reader. 

' After the ground is sufficiently pulTerized by repeated plnughingi, 
the number of which is regulated by the nature of the eoil, water it 
turned into the fiekl, end, when thoroughly soaked, it undergoes an- 
other ploughing, during which stage of the operation the ground is so 
soft that the cattle go up to their bellies in the soil. After this, a wooden 
instrument, forming the segment of a circle, is drawn over the surface, 
with its straight edge resting on the ground j this serves not only to 
smooth it, hut to break any ciods, or pick up whatever grass and weeds 
may have accidentally been left. The women then take the rice jilants, 
which have been rais«d from the seed in separate beds, and begmning 
at one end, plant iliemin rows tive or six inches apart each way ; and 
this they do with wonderful quickness and dexterity, retreating back- 
wards, and smoothing at the same time, with their hands, all irregulari- 
ties on the surface that may either have been left by former operationa 
or caused by their own feet ; so that when they have done, the field ap- . 
pears perfectly smooth, covered with a sheet of muddy water, above 
which the rows of green plants can just be seen, tinging it slightly of , 
their own colour. A few days afterwards, when the water becomes 
clear, it looks like a green mirror, and has a very beautiful appearance. 
When weeds spring up, which occurs soon after planting, the women 
are again sent over the field to gather them ; which, having performed, 
they again smooth the surface with equal rapidity as before, and the 
rice is then left to its natural rapid growth. 

' The large fields, fur the greater facility of irrigation, are divided into , 
small compartments, either square, or in a succession of terraces follow- 
ing each other, something in the form of fiah-scales ; a method gener- 
ally adopted when the field lies upon a slightly inclined plane, in whick ' 
case, each division being itself level, sinks lower in succession than the 
one above, from the one end to t!ie other, and is irrigated in a siaulai 
manner ; the water, after having flooded the upper one, passing to the 
next by a small opening at the lower end. Looking from a height over 
the country, these green and regular mirrors, glancing on all sides 
amongst the forest, have a pleasing effect. This forest is not an uncul- 
tivated waste; the greater part of it consists of mulberry gardens and 
fruit trees. At this time the silk worms were feeding, and every one 
was busy attending to these insects, the source of riches to Gheelan and 
iU inhabitants.' — pp. 119, 120. 

Mr. Fraser arrived at Resht on the 20th of May ; and in the cold 
reception which he experienced there he had an earnest of the 
sufferings which he was destined to undergo in Gheelan. He wrt ; 
fbrtanate in meeting Meerza MaViomed ^exa, one of those youths 
"'fohati been sent a few years befo(\-c to ^n^aof ^" kv.i---« 



^ 



JRtua^ jj^hroeh -m ^ Banl^ ofihe Cation., ^^3 

for tlieir ejiic^ticMi^ }fe spoke our laogaage vexy well^ and seama^ 
disposed to render every attention in his ■po\eer' to our cou0tojrmaa« 
Aiqoi^.oth^nsefcd points of information, he told Mr. Fi^aser thM 
Gheelaa wsm& ru.le4 by two princes, the most rapacious goyemgrs.in 
the kingdom, and that the elder of them was then absent at, 
Tehran^ \9hrithjer he was summoned to answer the complaints of tlM 
Ghel^E^iees a^dnst him, and to, amount for a large defijcatipn in the 
revenues, of the province^ 

It is surprising that a people so amply protected by the nature 
of their country as the Ghelauees should submit so tamely as they 
do to the oppression and rapacity of which they are the daily vic-« 
tims, Thaf^ part of their territory which is subject to the crown of 
Persii^ exteivls along the south and south-western banks of the 
Caspian, from the western boundary of Mazunderan to the banka 
of a small stream called Ashtara, forming a tract not q.uite twa 
hnudred miles in length. Since the early part of 1813^ the norths 
western part of the province^ including the place of Lankeroop^ 
has been in possession, of the Russians* A considerable pai:t of 
the province is mountainous, and. occupied by hordes of wild clanis, 
who are active patient of &tigue, brave, and devoted to their chiefs^ 
but *treaclie?ous, cruel, and rapacious towards all other persons^ 
The district which they possess is called Talish, and they are de-* 
scribed by the author as ^ for the most part spare, raw-boned men^ 
of robust though not tall frames, with countenances not unlike the 
Highli^ders of Scotland.' 

The town, of Resht like Astrabad is enveloped by trees :; it has 
nether the comfort nor neatness of Bf^froosh. The ba^satis^ hpi^r-t 
' ever, are extensive, clean, and well kept The beggary are jxijir 
m^ous and. importunate, many of theih are affected with leprosy, 
and most of them opium-eaters* We cannot pa$s.over the authors 
amusing description of the ^ religious mendicant&; 

* Of another description^ an^ very different in. character, were the 
filkeen anddervishea^ or religious mendicants. These, impudent but 
eften amusing vagabonds practised largely their es^pedients for leyyipg 

. .eoDtributioos on the purses of the multjitude. Some, fantastically 
driessed in tattered robes, and caps ornamented v^ith powers anck 
fefllbers, or still more wildly wreathed with tl^ei^ own niatted an4 

' twisted looks, ran in groups about the bazars, vociferating, in the cant 
<^* their caste, ** Yah Alee I Huk 1 HukT' and ds^morously demand- 
ing 6barity, Others, seated in booths or comers, sold charms against 
all iUseasetf, and magic tusbees or rosaries, and pieces of clay brought 

-ftom Mecca or Kerbela to be used in praver. Others,, again, confiding 
in their known celebrity, sat quietly coiled up in th^r dens by the way- 
side, attended by some of their disciples, beholding with a satirical 
grin, or with imperturbable and abstracted gravity, the' bustlibg scene 
before them; while the numeroi^s dupes of their fancied wisdom poured 
in their tribute of presents in return for the councils or m%\x\ic,\\Q\i 
reeeived fr^ the pious hypocrites. All these scenei^ aSot^^xcca^ 
vox. //« o 



VlSi Fraser's Travels on the Banks of the Caspian. ■ 

B*amuscment, anil rendered the bazars of Resht alirays an intereetUV 
I'JouDge.' — pp. 150, 151. 

I The staple produce of Gheelan is silk, for which Resht is tfal 
W chief mart, and one of the most considerable entrepots on the Ca^ 
Fpinn for exchanging the commodities of Persia with those n 
B Astrakan. Its population is estimated at about eighty thousand 
K Towards the latter end of May, Mr. Fraser had made his arroi^ 
I ments for quitting it, and was actually on his way out of the tomt^ 
■.■when, in consequence of an express just arrived from Tehran, H 
B received an order from the young Prince to suspend his journe^ 
Kiintil the return of the elder Piince, which was expected in twelM 
B or fourteen days. This order appears to have originated in a fain 
r leiTort which hod reached the elder Prince at Tehran, representiia 
I Mr. Fraser as a Russian spy. This blunder caused him a world q 

■ ' uneasiness. He feared that his life was in danger; and as the raj 
I' turn of the elder Prince was protracted from time to time, it wItt 
WL perfectly natural that a stranger, situated as Mr. Fraser was, shoan 
I tnake use of every means in Tiis power in order to effect his escsptH 
m Several chapters are occupied in detailing the projects formed by th;^ 
B' author for accomplishing his purpose, the adventures in which th^ 

V engaged him, his recapture by one of the Tallsh clans, the cma 
F treatment which he experienced from that barbarous race, aodbii 
» forced return to Resht, where he was compelled to wait the arrive 

■ of the elder Prince. A miserable apology was made to him for t£d 
■^ misrepresentation to which he was indebted for his sufferings, atn 
I at length he was allowed to take his departure for Tabreez, whl'dj 
I he reached about the middle of July. Here he found that Mr^ 
B Willock the envoy had already quitted Persia, and was then 6a 
mf liis way to England, In consequence of an Insulting message thtf 
m Vtas sent to him by the King concerning certain arrears of subsi^ 
J which His Majesty peremptorily demanded. Tabreez, the capita 
■*'of Azerbijan, the most important province of Persia, has been n 
W ' oflen described that It Is unnecessary to detain the reader with BiH 

■ account of it. It has really little remarkable about it, except thatB 
W^ Was the favourite residence of Zobeide, the wife of that Haroim-A 
K Raschid, who cuts so conspicuous a figure in the " Arabian Nightiil 

■ Entertainments." After i-emaining here for some weeks, Mr. FrssiS 

■ returned by way of Tefflis and Odessa to Vienna and England. , 
W The work concludes with an appendix, which contains two veqr 
B.^^Ie and useful papers. The first is occupied with geological rfK 
VI servations on certain parts of Persia, and the second with an w> 

V iMunt of its commerce, which the want of space alone prevents ns 
W from noticing more in detail. 



195 • 

» « 

Aet. X. Memoirs of the Court of Henry the Eighth. By Mr«* A. T. 

Thomson. 2 Vols. 8to. 1/.8s. London. Longman and Co. \%K. 

T'« «■ . • . 
HBSE volumes belong to a department of historical literature 
wliich we now appear to have gallantly resigned, by common con- 
sent,, into the hands, of our accomplished fair. The memoirs of 
courts, with their appurtenances of contemporary manners, amuse- 
ments, ceremonies, costumes, and fashions, present many pleasing 
and. elegant points of enquiry ; and we know no branch of author- 
sbq) which may more appropriately occupy the leisure at better 
display the polished taste, of a lady of intellectual pursuits* The suc- 
cess with which such subjects have lately been treated by more than 
oae of our literary countrywomen may justify this opinion. Miss 
Aikin's. Memoirs of the courts of Elizabeth and James I. are really 
^lirited and valuable episodes in the history of manners, literature, 
and character ; and Miss Benger's Lives of Mary Queen of Scots, 
of Anne Bolejro, and of Elizabeth Stuart> if less full and finished 
productions, are still all entitled to a respectable rank among the 
records of royal biography and courtly scenes. To these names 
we'have now to add with pleasure that of the lady whose volumes 
ar^ before us. 

The history of the court and of the reign of Henry VIII. may 
be divided under several heads, each either of grave importance or 
amusing curiosity, and all of them therefore fully meriting regard 
and attention* In the varying aspect and progress of English 
manners, the first half of the sixteenth century was a peculiar 
and lemarkable epoch. In that age the martial uses of chivalry 
were adorned with the highest splendour of pomp and pageantrv ; 
apd among the youthful nobility of England, the stem spirit of the. 
liieient knighthood was already blended with the softened influence 
(oiF intellectual taste. The flowers of literature were wreathed 
■Eodnd the sword and the lance ; the preux chevalier learned to 
indite a sonnet, while he still broke a spear, in his lady's cause ; 
jBd» as our historian of chivalry has justly remarked, its character 
IB this age began to partake more of a passion for poetical and 
mnantic s^itiment than it retained of its strictly original qualities. 
The devotion of the knight to his mistress was often no more than 
a poet's dream. The state of English society was undergoing a 
n^id change from the absence of all mental cultivation to eager 
aiq>irations after refinement and improved civilisation. 

Nor was this state of transition confined only to manners ; it 
pOTaded and characterised every thing in the same age, — literature, 
reli^n, arts, and arms. From Italy our well-travelled ancestors 
had already imbibed both a keen relish for the classical learning of 
antiquity, and a taste for the allegorical and romantic numbers of^ 
Ariosto. The thirst of knowledge had already been exc\ted\ >3aa 
mspiration of poesy was awakened ; and the reign of HetvtN^^^^* 
was the dawn of that era, which burst forth into its &\i nocA. c^ 

o 2 



n»« 



Memoirs of the Court of Henry VIII. 



The King bi^ 
skllle<l iii polemical divini^ aDd scholastic 



K^neridian glory before the close ot' the century. 

■ jnir» perhaps, was more skllle<l iii polemical div 
nubtifties than in the mystery of the gayer sciences. But he wu 
llNit wii^ut poetic taste ; and if one wretched ballad, of ijndoubCeil 
Pjnthenticity, which is stlii exlaut, may entitle him to the namei hf 

■ 4ms also a poet. His court may certainly he characterised ia so&tf 
Ijneasure as a school of letters. It was graced by the presence 
K^nd the amorous lays of Lord Surrey and Sir Thomas WyaBt 
w^ was there, too, by Henry's special command, that the admifft 
t^ble work of Froissart was translated by a soldier and a conrticq. , 

iriu> was himself a worthy exemplar of the knightly cbaracier): ^ 
ind that English version of the great chronicle of chivalry, bf' 
Fohn Bourchier, Lord Bemers, remains to attest the fact tbat»; 

■ for vigour and raciness of expression, and for picturesque richnefl 
T style, our language had even then attained a strength xai, 
)auty which its more polished maturity has scarcely surpassed. 

But, for the advancement acd encouragement of severer studie4 ' 
the age and the court of Henry VIJI. have much higher associ*' 
^ions. Learning never found a more muni6cent protector than 
KWolsey. Here, whatever were his political faults and vices, 
"reat Cardinal most worthily employed the " full blown dignit] 
£ power. 

" Ever witness for him 

Those twins of learning that he raised in you, 
Ipswich and Oxford, one of which fell with him, 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it." 

Of tlie names which figure in this early age of our liten 

B scholar need scarcely be reminded; Erasmus and Sir Thoi 

More, who might of themselves confer dignity and interest on an/' 

; Dean G>let, the learned and virtuous founder of St. PauFl^ 

^oot; Linacre, also, the common associate of all these illustrioitl.^ 

F ^irits, the first man who raised medicine into a science in England^^ 

t jpid by whose counsel the King gave a legal incorporation and pt^^ 

tection to the faculty, and founded the College of Fltysicianil <• 

*<illye, the celebrated giammarian ; Cranmer, Tonstall, Pace,U]B^ 

.Atimer, all eminent in theology. « 

This pleasing interest which attaches to die age of Henry VlUs/f 

R its connection with the history of manners and literature^ domf^ 

lot extend to the political and ecclesiastical transactions of Bl^k 

^feign. It was indeed the epoch which marked tlie first £eGiirs?t< 

establishment of the great kingdoms of Europe in their duraU^ l|| 

form, and in which the principles of international pohtics b^M^'t 

first to be understood and practised. But there is nothing in u^^ 

period to which the English student can recur with satisfaction tm\ 

pride. The selfish vanity of Heniy was gratified by the flatteriiy>, 

and delusive title of arbiter of the bEi\QA\ce o? ^ower; but tlw i. 

haeied'ascexic^Boy which he enjoyed 'm v\ie aSa\T^ oii ~£m\q^' 



>^^^ 



lle^^ e^L^rcised either for the national dicnity or advantage. His 
^l^^fP^ was a period of no g^ory, and it would be impossible to trace, 
ia his capricious and vacillating administration, a single stroke of 
enlightened policy or statesmanlike wisdom. Place his foreign 
measures in comparison with those of his illustrious daughter, and 
lie sinks to his true level of a selfish and brutal tyrant, insensible 
10 die hoDonrof his country and his people, and differing in no 
i^Q^>ect from the ignorant and barbearian despots of the darkest 
Igto. The government of Elizabeth was sufficiently absolute, but 
Its arlritrary temper was at least redeemed in the eyes of her sub- 
jedts by a thousand concomitants of national grandeur and public 
li&l^iness: under the jealous and merciless yoke cf Henry, the 
JDtemal aspect of the>>kingdbm presented only the mirelieved pic^ 
Ittre of degrading and abject servitude. Every spark of the 
fteedom wliich the parliament had asserted and won in the four^ 
teenth eencory, and which, favoured by the doubtful tide of our 
firiBt Lancastrian princes, might have appeared to be securely 
listiUisbed, had been extinguished in the sanguinary wars of 
iflie rival Roses. Throughout the whole reign of Henry, he 
Ibiew CO other law than his own furious and unresisted passions ; 
and, if our whole history had corresponded to the spirit of this 
reign, we should have little cau^ for pride in tracing our national 
ancestry to the nobles and the » people who crouched undor so 
despicable a slavery, and consented to hold their pcoperties and 
Jives at the mere beck of a master, at once so impatient^ unrelccit- 
iog, and atrociously cruel.. 

On the ecclesiastical . history of the time the mind must dwell 
^ritk much more feeling of repugnance than satisfaction. It is 
'jnritten in characters of blood, riere we have the disgraoefui 
tpectade of a whole nation isubjecting their consciences and their 
meption of eternal truths to the will of an intolerant despot, whose 
Ip^gment was at the same time ferociously bigoted and absurdly 
WsoBsistent. We find the Catholic and Protestant parties alter- 
'hatdy the victims and sport of his cruel violence ; nor was the 
fkjgradation of even the most vigorous spirits wanting to complete 
Iftis shameful picture of national subserviency. Contrs£ctory 
articles of belief, imposed at the capricious pleasure of the royai 
Memic, vrere abjectly subscribed to by the viery men who^ but a 
%m years afier, encountered a yet more bloody persecution, and 
tealed the sincerity of their opinions with their blood. 
•. A single glance at all these topics of various and opposite interest 
'4rlttGh belong to the reign of Henry VIIL will sufficiently show 
'Ae nature and extent of the labour which Mrs. Thomson has im- 
Bosed .upon herself. In one point of view, the difficulty of treat- 
fng her sul^ct was much increased for a female pen. The xssfy^ 
^kcm of the court of Henry Vlll. must, of course, e!i^DSc»L\. \&ik 
ilocoestie Hie $ and this, bared in all its grosser c\Tcums\suc«H 
'mcM belittle mare than a tale of sensuality and indeceoc^* '^^ 

o 5 



Memoirs of the Court of Henry VIIL 

F his marriages and divorces, and the proceedings by whidt 
£e endeavoured to colour the indulgence of his wanton appetites wiA 
'^e sanction of religion and law, are full of details and questioW 
""no very proper tendency; and we confess that, on open&f 
rs. Thomson's volumes, we felt some doubt whether the subjeUt 
iltc^ether could be treated by a lady with adequate truth and Jflt 
Pi*rithout violation of decorum. But we have been agreeably sOlfi- 

Eised by the mingled ingenuity and modesty witb which this emi 
rrassing part of the narrative has been execnied. In othtf 
t *espects, Mrs. Thomson appears to have entered on her undef* 
vteking fearlessly and industriously, and she may certainly lA 
L^Iared to have performed it with ability. All the lighter sketchet 
I of her subject she has invested with a grace and an animation 
!■ which are truly feminine : the coarser details are managed wift 
I delicate tact and propriety, honourable alike to her good sense wA 

Surity of mind ; and even the weightier and more arduous task ef 
dineating the ecclesiastical and political affeirs of so remarkable 
\ period she has accomplished with no inconsiderable talent and' 
igour. 
In compiling her worit, our fair author has consulted the usui^i 
Authorities. The Chronicles of Hall and Hotinshed, and the lifi 
"of Wolsey by his servant Cavendish, are the principal contemporaijl 
jnaterials which she has used for her general narrative; but she hd 
P-.also had recourse to the valuable collection of original letters, illni* 
t Irative of our history, which the judicious industry of Mr. Ellis hof ^ 
dug out from the stores of the British Museum. There is, how^-j 
L 'ever, one work which we have been surprised to find so frequendy- 
\ numbered among Mrs. Thomson's references ; we mean the His- 1 
I «tory of the Reign of Henry VIII. by Lord Herbert of Cherbury, ? 
V** a great name, but a little authority." The merits of both thai - 
Vhook and its author have been grossly overrated. Lord Herbert' 
Lj cannot even claim the advantage of having been contemporary with 
P'the events which he records: his work has litde to entitle it to the ' 
credit which some writers, and Mrs. Thomson after them, would 
seem strangely inclined to render to it : it is distinguished only 
by glaring partiality, pedantic affectation of manner, and inaccu* 
zate relation of facts. 

It is due, however, to Mrs. Thomson to say, that, upon tie 
whole, she has produced an amusing work. Necessarily pos- 
sessing only the same sources of information which are open to 
all, and which are, for the most part, perfectly tamihar to the 
historical enquirer, she has doubtless not aspired to the di^ 
covery of additional fiicts, nor found reason to place those which 
were previously known in any new or veiy striking light. But 
her volumes still bear, in a great degree, the charm ot novelQ'; 
for the nature of her design has enabled her to blend and bar- 
monise the public transactions, whlcVi \xsua\V^ ew^ioss the whi ' 
•^lace of professed historians^ ■wit\v ai\ iVoae tri\i\\i.\£. »ni 



le who^ 

"I 



Memoirs of the Court of Henry VJIL 199 

Dotioes of tbe state of literature and the domestic condition of 
society, which are elsewhere to be found only in scattered and dis- 
jointed fragments. To attempt any analysis or digest of her volumes 
would only be to reduce her subject again to the meagre elements 
of an abridgment, and to divest it of the graceful drapery in which 
she has clotned it. It is not the historical summary of the period^ 
^t the enlarged treatment of all its collateral and minute incidents, 
wliich is a desideratum for the reading world; and, avoiding alto- 

Ether to notice the mere outlines of a reign which are ^^ familiar as 
Qsdiold words," we shall just afford our readers one or two 
tpedtnens of her manner. 

- He gorgeous pageants and processions, the elaborate entertain^ 
ments and shows, the splendid jousts and tournaments, which have 
particularly celebrated this age of our manners, n^urally engage a 
grtot portion of our &ir author's attentiqn : but ^ong these we 
»aU notice only the peculiarities of the banquet. 

' Hiere were few of the fashionable amusements of the day more 
fikely.to diminish the resources of the royal purse than the banquet of 
dden times. In the sixteenth century, it was usually an early supper, 
at six or seven o'clock in the evening, and was composed of the most 
fobstantial and costly viands that the royal parks or forests could sup- 
; ^. : every festivity, every solemn occasion of business or of state, was 
closed by a feast, either at the hour of twelve, as a dinner, or early in 
tbe evening. Nor was it, in those chivalrous days, considered either 
well-bred or decorous to exclude the fair sex from participating in these 
eiinvivialities,or to admit them merely to the tantalizmg privilege of being 
spectators ; the ladies of Henry's court obtained a share in this, as in 
e?ery species of diversion, and were not only allowed to sit as guests at 
tbe.fe^ts, but were thought to be essential members of the company. 
At the palace of Wolsey, Cavendish describes them as sitting alternately 
with the gallants of the court ; and at the feast of the Serjeants, held at 
Ely House in the twenty-third year of Henry's reign, Queen Katharine 
presided at the head of one table, and the Kmg at another, in separate 
apaitments. 

' The party being assembled, and the King and Queen seated in their 
diairs of state, it was the custom to begin the cermonial of royal banquets 
iiypresenting hippocras and wafers to the sovereign and his consort. The 
dishes were then placed, and were frequently replenished, according to 
the. quality and number of those assembled at the board ; but the courses 
were always numerous, and included a considerable number and variety 
of viands. 

. ^ It was about this period, that the substantial character of these re- 
pasts began to give place to a greater degree of elegance in the choice 
of provisions. Except venison (sometimes eaten with furmenty), or pork 
Itewed into broth, no butchers' meat was allowed to appear on table at 
the high-day festivals of the court, or at the palaces of the nobles : but 
ft city feasts, or at those purely ceremonial, the baron of beef, or even 
the spectacle of an entire carcase, was still permitted to gladden the 
qres of the hungry. At the dinner before specified, which was d^dax^^ 
ojbe little inferior to the feast of a coronation, it was deemed xvec^^^^^^x^ 
}Qj9rqvido twenty- four great ^'beefes," one hundred fet ** xawXXoxk&r 

o 4? 



200 Memoirs of the Court of Heniy VIII, 

ninety-one pigs, one carcase of an ox ; besides fourteen dozen of si^ans, 
and other varieties of the feathered and finny tribe, too numerous to be 
detailed. As the female members of a company arc usually critics in 
the more delicate minutiae of the culinary art, our ancestors did not 
fail to intersperse their banquets with intricate confectionary, in which 
their skill appears to have been by no means despicable. The " subllc- 
ticB," BO frequently specified by the chroniclers of the period, were de- 
vices made with jellies or Bweetmeats, and placed in the centre of the 
table for ornament ; and, in order to be consistent with that tsBte for 
symbolical display which then prevailed, they were frequently intended- 
to convey particular meanings, couched in corresponding mottoes; a 
chain of gold, or a crown, according to the dignity of the president of- 
the fbast, usually surmounting these skilful contrivances. Between the 
courses, and afler the feast, tne attendants presented to the company 
services of fruit, gutter, spiced cakes, hard cheese, and sweetmeats; 
and in these iote^als the introduction of music and songs filled up the 
pauses in conversation ; and pageants, niunimiogs, and dancing, were 
sometimes contrived to vary the monotonous pleasures of the table.' — 
' The wines most in use at this period appear to have been Malmsey, 
Rhenish, and the wines of Gascony and of Guienne ; which last were 
introduced into England at the time when part of the French domi- 
nions surrendered to the British arms; besides these, it has been de- 
cided that the Champagne vintage was already in great repute, and 
among others who estimated its productions, Henry the Eighth is num- 
bered, and is even stated to have held one of the vineyards of Ay in hi* 
own hands ; sack, that still unexplained object of antiquarian ioquirri 
^as also one of the luxuries of this age. At coronations or banquets, it 
was, however, invariably the custom to dilute the genuine wines, and to 
cover the harshness and acidity which they possessed by mixing them 
with honey or with spices.' — pp. 218 — 222. 
^^^^i To turn to graver matter; the only remnimng extract for which 
^^V^We can afibrd room we shall select from Mrs. Thomson's account 
^^^Lfif the state of education, which, curious as it is, is nevertheless very 
^^^ftHttle known. 

^^^H ' Hitherto, with few exceptions besides the two great schools of Eton 
^^^ itnd Winchester, and the recent institution by Dr. Colet, the urduoui 
' bffice of instruction had devolved either upon monks and nuns, or on 

the society df parish clerks, before specified as the heroes of thfe stage, 
and who united to the profession of the histrionic art the accomplish* 
ments of singing and oi reading. To the monasteries chiefly was society 
indebted, also, for the greater portion of the learning which it posBessed 
during the early and middle ages. In most of the convents, whether 
-mile or female, the common rudiments of knowledge were taught gra- 
!tuitously ; and by the constitutions of the friars, each prior of a monaB- 
tery was obliged to select a diligent master, in order to instruct the 
novices, who came thither either for education or for initiation into the 
monastic profession. The master was to teach the children to be " hum- 
ble in heart and body," and especially to inculcate upon them this texli 
" Learn of me, who am meek and lowly of heart ;" he was to instruct thwn 
how to receive discipline, and not to apeak of absent blessings ; he was 
fUeo to eround his young pupils in grammac, \oE\t, ani ^iluLQBa^hy ; to 
„ .Jiirect them how to be constantly reading, oi \ea.'cuvn%'^'}JD|S|U|^ 



Miamn ^ the Ccmt ^'ffenryVUl: Sffly 

horn to cdadiiet themadTCs in the minoir obfervances of their rule ; and 
besides these inttmctioiui, music, both in the science and the practice^ . 
accounts, writing, turning, gilding, painting, sculpture, and almost every 
useful pursuit) were inciUcated on those who had a turn for these occu- 
pst io DS, or who- were not destined to any particular and secular pursuits. . 
The female novices were attended with equal assiduity by a mistress,, 
who, besides superintending the general conduct of her young charges, . 
was expected to instruct them in the service and the rule, and to those 
who were destined to take the veil, supernumerary accomplishments were 
imparted. A well-tutored novice was able to copy works upon parch- 
nent, to read both French and Latin, to excel in needle-work, even to 
transmit the narratives of history to canvass, to dress wounds, to admi- 
nister «iedicines with efficacy, to dance, to make confectionary, to draw, 
to i^a^ upon musical instruments, to cast accounts, to which an earlier 
attentiOA was given by them than by the boys, to be skilled in hawking 
and hoisemanship, and even in tumbling and playing, of which itinerant 
professors were sometimes introduced into the convents. <* Music, 
which," as Fuller remarks, '' sang its own dirge at time of the dissolu- 
tion," was cultivated with great care in these seminaries ; in many con- 
vents there was a song-school erected within the church, and a master 
iqppropriated to teach the boys the use of the organ and of the voice ; a 
practice the more essential, as not only were vocal and instrumental 
perlbrmers required for the daily and nightly services, but in the family 
of every bishop, and of many of the nobility, there were qhoirs of sing- 
. ing boys, thus previously tutored in monastic establishments. — 
■ ^ The abbots, many of them learned, and patrons of literature,. had 
irequent opportunities of observing the necessity and advantages of 
erudition, of which their own share occasionally procured them the 
diarge of embassies, and other important employments. As they had 
often no other mode of disposing of the superfluities of their revenues^ 
it became a practice among the neads of the larger convents, especially 
among those who were honoured with the mitre, to receive into their 
private lodges the sons of the principal families in the neighbourhood, 
R>r the purposes of education. About the year 1450^ Thomas Bromele, 
abbot ^ the mitred monastery of Hyde, near Winchester, boarded 
within his own abbatical house, in that monastery, eight young gentle- 
men, who were placed there for the sake of literary instruction, and who 
dined at the abbot's table. The apartments of the abbot of Glaston- 
bury resembled, we are told, a kind of well disciplined court, where the 
sons of noblemen and of the gentry were sent for virtuous education ; 
and Richard Whiting, the last abbot of Glastonbury, who was cruelly 
executed by Heniy the Eighth, brought up nearly three hundred ii^e- 
moos youths, besides many others whom he liberally supported at die 
universities.' — pp. 454—458. 

These specimens may enable the reader to judge for himself 
<rf the general ability and character of Mrs. Thomson's volumes. 
Her style is in general simple, easy, and sufficiently accurate ; yet 
it has occasionaUy a few blemishes, to which we would point, less 
from the desire of censure than as a caution to our fair candidate 
fi>r literary honours. She will scarcely need to be uAd xS^vdX ^»s3cv 
oonfiised and involved seoteaces as the foIlowiD|^ ate i»A. m ^e>QR»x. 
ityk» 



1 

ne f 

to I 



t04 TAe Sandwich Islands. 

■ It is no part of our iluty to animadvert upon the plan which Mr. 
Ellis and his companions followed in diffusing the doctrines of the 
new law among the people of those islands. No rational peraon, 
towever, can read the work before lis without feeling, that if the 
Missionaries imagine they have established Christianity wherever 
they appeared and proclaimed it, they must be the most sanguine 
of mankind. Their mode was, on their arrival in tiie islands, to 
enter a popidous village, to collect the inliabitants as far &s they 
were able, preach to them onco or twice, and then pursue their 
journey to the next hamlet. The ignorant people might, perhaps, 
have been struck with wonder or admiration by the doctrines that 
were thus newly expounded to them, but even if they felt an 
anxiety to become further act^uainted with the sublime precepts of 
which they lieard, and to model the conduct of their lives upon 
ihem, they had no opportunity «f doing so, for when the serincm 
was over the Missionary took his departure, and both he and his 
discourse were most probably soon after forgotten. 

According to Mr. Ellis, he and his colleagues were received 
ewry where in the Sandwich islands, particularly in Hawaii, of 
wnich, indeed, he chiefly treats, with respect, hospitality, and favour. 
Their instructions were listened to witli attention, and generally 
excited the curiosity of the natives ; but it does not appear that any 
permanent ini]>ressJon has been as yet produced upon their minds 
in favour of Christianity. Tlieir ancient system of idolatry was in 
a great measure abolished by the late King Rihoriho, not, how 
ever, from motives of a religious nature, but from a desire to 
remove a multitude of inconveniences with which it was encum- 
bered, and which were particularly felt on the most common occ£^ 
sions of domestic intercourse. For instance, the tabu, which was 
an essential part of that system and its principal support, prevented 
the females from eating with the men, and thus drew a daily and 
an impassable line of distinction between the members of the same 
family. The word ' tabu' seems literally to have been applied to 
every thing that was set apart as sacred to the gods, but in its 
general signification it was used to express whatever the priests of 
Die idols prohibited to be done, and they, in order to augment 
their inSuence over tiie people, established a code of regulations, 
which interfered with almost every action of life, and were strictly 
enforced by the civil authorities. Tlie extent to which this prac- 
tice was carried was quite ludicrous. ' During the season of 
strict tabu,' says Mr. Ellis, * every fire and light on the island or 
district must be extinguished ; no canoe must be launched on tha 
water; no person must bathe; and, except those whose attendance 
was required at the temple, no individual must be seen out of 
doors ; no dog must bark, no pig must grunt, no cock must crow 1' 
The latter part of the prohibition was effected by tying up the 
mouths of the iinintals, and &i&lening a ipiece oC cloth over the 
- - - J., 



The Sandwich Mandi. 808 

The wbole of this oppressive system was extinguished, upon his 
acoessicm to. die government of all the islands in 181 9, by Bihoriho^ 
who destroyed also every idol which his reforming hand could 
reach throughout his dominions. He was a perfect iconoclast ; and 
though be met with considerable opposition from certain chiefi and 
&milies» fi)rming a part of that class which is to be found in every 
country, barbarous or civilised, and which wages', an angry wav 
against every sort of innovation, yet he ultimately carried his point 
urith ability and vigour. This important change in the ^^ constitu^ 
tion and caurch'^ of the Sandwich islands was peculiarly propitious 
to the objects ci the Missionaries, who arrived there soon after it 
had been completed, and found the whole nation without any reli* 
gion, . unless a number of mere superstitious feelings and observe 
ances be entitled to that name. And these, like almost every 
traditionary superstition which has prevailed in the old world or the 
new, evidently owe their origin to local circumstances. The island 
of Hawaii seems to be a complete mass of lava, or other volcanic 
matter^ in di£Perent stages of decomposition. This mass is perfor* 
ated with innumerable apertures in the shape of craters, which 
affi>rd . so many vents to a vast furnace burning constantly, and 
fiercely beneath it The principal volcano, which is called Ki« 
rauea, is supposed by the natives to be the residence of a deity, 
iriiom they have named Pel^, and to whom they naturally enough 
ascribe tremendous power, believing that it is she who commands 
the earthquake that stardes them from their midnight slumbers, and 
who kindles the blue flame that hovers over their mountains. Her 
they fear and endeavour to propitiate by various acts of secret or 
public worship; and as they are continually eicposed to her op»> 
ations, they look for her favour^ or dread her hostility, in almost 
every thing they do. The existence of this superstition, incon- ^ 
justent as it is with the truths of natural philosophy, is, neverthe-i 
less;, npt to be wondered at among a people who, until they were 
visited by Captain Cook, nearly half a century ago, had no con* 
ception that there were other continents or islands beyond their 
own, Xt is, however, remarkable, that, entertaining such a belief^ 
which approaches so nearly to the knowledge of one omnipotent 
B^in^ they coincided with other Pagan nations, of whom they 
hever heard, by fabricating numerous minor gods for theirnselvesn 
and asfcribing to their idols a supernatural agency. 

The Sandwich islands are ten in number, and lie in the Pacific 
Ocean» within the tropic of Cancer,^ between 18° 50" and 22® 20^^ 
w«%i liUitud^ and between l^^'' 53" and 160"" 15' west longitude 
frrai Greenwich, about one-third of the distance from the western 
coast of Mexico, towards the eastern shores of China. The prin- 
dpai island Hawaii, as Mn Ellis writes it, . or Owhyee, as Captaiii 
VOpk spelt the name from the similarity of the sound) re&^vsvbW 
2X1 equilateral trian^ie, and is about 300 miles in. c\3^e\\?mS^\.^s)L^^ 
^vea qf the oth^r islands are inhabited, and tyjo «xfe \\l\5^«k;>w?t^ 



206 The Sandwich, Islattds. 

than barren rocks. They all appear to have a volcanic origin ; and 
tbouf^h the climate is warm and debilitating to an European coi^ 
stitution, it is not insalubrious. The natives generally possess the 
European countenance, and ai'c well formed, particularly the chie^ 
whose gait is graceful, and sometimes stately. Their ' hair is black 
or brown, strong, and frequently curly ;' their complexion is a kind 
of olive. The whole population ol' the islands is estimated at 
150,000, of which 85,000 inhabit Hawaii. Jtappears that formerly 
the population was much greater, and that the diminution which it 
has undergone is to be attributed to the desolating wars which 
marked the early part of the reign of Tamehameha, tlie predecessor 
of Rihoriho, who, it may be remembered, together with his queen, 
died recendy in this country, and who has been succeeded by his 
younger brother Kauikeoule, about ten years of age, under the pro- 
tection of Great Britain. 

The animal productions of these islands, as may be inferred from 
the nature of their volcanic composition, are very few. Like the 
other islands of the Pacific, they are free from noxious and poison- 
ous reptiles, excepting centipedes, which are neither large nor nume- 
rous. They have a good supply of fish and vegetables, particularly 
of yams, or sweet potato, which form the principal subsistence of 
the natives. Their local situation affords many facilities for com- 
merce, which have become of very considerable importance since 
the establishment of the new states of Mexico and South America. 
The people generally seem to be docile, lively in their manners, in- 
dustrious, hospitable, and fond of their national amusements. At 
Kairua, the principal village of Hawaii, where tlie missionaries first 
assembled, tbey saw an immense multitude of people collected 
round a party of musicians and dancers. 

' The musicians, seven in number, seated themselves on the sand ; a 
curiously carved drum, made by hollowing out a solid piece of wood, 
and covering the top with shark's skin, was placed before each, which 
they beat with the palm or fingers of their right hand. A neat little 
drum, made of the shell of a large cocoa-nut, was also £xed on the 
knee, by the side of the large drum, and beat all the while with a small 
stick held in the left hand. When the nmsiciaoa had arranged them- 
selves in a line across the beach, and a bustling man, who appeared to be 
master of the ceremonies, had, with a large branch of a cocoa-nut tree, 
cleared a circle of considerable estent, two interesting little children, 
{a boy and a girl,) apparently about nine years of age, came forward, 
habited in tlie dancing costume of the country, with garlands of flowers 
on their heads, wreaths around their necks, bracelets on their wrists, 
and buskins on their ancles. When they had reached the centre of the 
ring, they commenced their dance to the music of the drums ; can- 
tilating all the while, alternately with the musiciuns, a song in honour 
of some ancient chief of Hawaii. 

' The governor of the island waa present, accompanied, as it is cus- 
tomary for every chieftain of distinction to be on public occasions, by a 
retinue of favourite chiefs and attendants. Hav\ti^ aWoftl entirely laid 
ss/de the native costume, and adopted thai ot i\vctaci^e«,-»iVo'ii 



nSh^ 



The Sandwiek HanJU. 307 

the islands, he appeared oa this occasion in a light European dress, and 
sat on a .Canton-made arm-chair^ opposite the dancers/ during the whole 
exhibiti(»« A servant with a light kihei of painted native cloth thro¥rn 
over his shoulder, stood behind his chair, holding a highly polished 
portable spittoon, made of the beautifully brown wood of the cordia in 
ODe hand, and in the other a handsome kahiriy an elastic rod, three or 
four feet long, having the shining feathers of the tropic-bird tastefully 
fastened round the upper end, with which he fanned away the flies from 
the person of his master.' — pp. 74, 75- 

The Missionaries were desirous of addressing the crowd on the 
subject of religion before they should disperse, and, as was to^ be 
expected at such a moment, they failed to attract the least atten- 
tion. They were, however, in some measure consoled for their 
disappointment, by an invitation to sup with the governor ; and, as 
in ancient Greece, the entertainment was cheered by the strains of 
a bard. 

' Our repast was not accompanied by the gladsome sound of ^^ harp 
m hair* or <' aged minstreFs flowing lay," yet it was enlivened by an 
interesting you^iful bard, twelve or fourteen years of age, who was 
seated on the ground in the large room in which we were assembled, 
and who, during the supper, sung in a monotonous but pleasing strain 
the deeds of former chiefs, ancestors of our host. His fingers swept no 
" classic lyre," but beat, in a manner responsive to his song, a rustic 
little drum, formed of a calabash * , beautifully stained, and covered at 
the head with a piece of shark-skin. The governor and his friends 
were evidently pleased with his lay, and the youth seemed repaid by 
their approbation.* — pp. 75, 76. 

Not in this point alone, but in several others, there is a striking 
similarity between the manners, of the early Grecians and those of 
the natives of Hawaii. Homer more than once describes his prin- 
cipal female personages as surrounded by their female attendants, 
all equally employed in weaving linen and cloth for the garments of 
the family. Thus also we are told of Keoua, the governor's wife, 
and her female attendants seated under the pleasant shade of the 
kou-tree, and employed in preparing the materials for the cloth 
usually worn in that country. These materials indeed diflFer essen- 
lially from those which Helen or Penelope used for the same pur- 
pose, being composed simply of the bark which is stripped from 
sticks of the wauti plant, about ten feet long, and an inch in diame- 
ter at the thickest end. The bark is cut the whole length of the 
stick with a sharp serrated shell, carefully peeled oiff, rolled into 
small coils, the inner bark being outside, and in this state it is lefl; 
ui^til k loses its original circular form^ and becomes flat and 
smooth. The outer bark is next scraped off with a shell, and the 
inner bark, of which alone the cloth is made, is steeped in water 

■ 11 ■ ■ ■ I ■ i| ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ !■ I ■ ■■ . ■ I ■ ■■■ 

♦ A vessel formed o? the shell of a large kind of goxxx^ ero^xKa^ «sv\ 
.dried, '^.ffev^ 



UOS The Sandwich Islands. 

until it loses all Us resinous substances. Each piece is then t 
separately and beaten witli a square mallet of hard, heavy wood, ti 
the required extent and texture are produced. If one piece be ■ 
sufficient to make the requisite quantity of cloth, two or more piece* ' 
are spi'ead out one upon the other, fastened at one end, and beaten 
with the mallet until they are all consolidated in one texture. The > 
gum naturally contained in the bark is sufficient to cause the fibres 
to adhere; but in this case care is taken nut to allow the bark to be 
previously too long steeped in water, as the gum would thereby be 
entirely dissolved. The natives display great ingenuity also in their 
manner of painting the cloth which they thus matin facture; and we 
fully agree with Mr. Ellis, that such a people ' are not deficient in 
taste, nor incapable of receiving the improvements of civilized so- 
ciety.' We are informed in a note, that ' specimens of the principal 
kinds of native cloth manutactured in the Sandwich islands may 
be seen iii the Missionary Museum, Austin Friars.' 

From Kairua, Mr. Ellis and his colleagues, attended by a native 
guide, proceeded on a tour through the southern and south-eastern 
parts of Hawaii j and we have already borne testimony to the suc- 
cess with which he availed himself of the opportunities it afforded 
of ' making observations on the structure of the island, its geogra- 
phical character, natural scenery, productions, and objects of curio- 
si^.' It also enabled him to become fully acquainted with the 
peculiar system of idolatry, the traditions, manners, and customs of 
the inhabitants, his account of which is well detailed. At Kaavaros, 
the scene of Captain Cook's unhappy death, Mr. Ellis learned some 
particulars of the circumstances that preceded and followed that 
melancholy event, which will be read with interest. 

' " The foreigner," they say, " was not to blame ; for, in the first 
instance, our people stole his boat, and he, in order to recover It, de- 
signed to take our king on board his ship, and detain him there till it 
should be restored- Knpena Kuke • and Taraiopu our king were walk- 

' ing together towards the shore, when our people, conscious of what bad 
been done, thronged round the king, and objected to his going any fur- 
ther. His wife also joined her entreaties that he would not go on board 
the ships. While he was hesitating, a man came running from the other 

-side of the bay, entered the crowd almost breathless, and exclaimed, 
' It is tvari — the foreigners have commenced hostilities, have fired on a 
canoe from one of their boats, and killed a chief.' Tliis enraged some 

.of our people, and alarmed the chiefs, as they feared Captain Cook 
would kill the king. The people armed themselves wilh stones, clubs, 
and spears. Kanona entreated her husband not to go. All the chie& 
did the same. The king sat down. The captain seemed agitated, and 
was walking towards his boat, when one of our men attacked him with 
a spear : he turned, and with his double-barrelled gun shot the man who 
struck him. Some of our people then threw stones at him, which being 
seen by his men, tliey fired on us. Captain Cook then endeavoured ta 

s thus pTono\H\ce4'b'<j ^etn.'u.y^A^ ' 



7%e Sandmch Idands. i09 

slop his men from 'firing, but coiild not, on accodnt of the nobe. He 
WW ttimin^ again .to speak to us, when he was stabbed in l^e back wid^ 
2LpAoa; a spear was at the same time driyen through his body ; he fbll 
into the water, and spoke no more. 

* ^ After he was dead, we all wailed. His bones were separated— 
the fiesfa was scraped off and burnt, as was the practice in regard to our 
own chiefs when they died. We thought he was the god Rono, wor« 
^pped him as such, and after his death reverenced his bones."'—- 

* We have scmietimes asked them what inducement they had to steal 
the boat^ when tiiev possessed so many canoes of their own. They have 
generally answered, that they did not tai:e it to transport themsielves 
ffom one island to another, for their own canoes were more convenient^ 
and they knew better how to manage them ; but because they saw it waa 
not sewed together, but fastened with nails. These they wanted, — 
therefore stole the boat, and broke it to pieces the next day, in order to 
obtain the nails to make fish-hooks with. We have every reason to be-» 
lieve that this was the principal, if not the only motive, by which they 
were actuated in committing the depredation which ultimately led to 
such unhappy consequences. They prize nails very highly ; and though 
we do not know that they ever went so far in their endeavours to obtain 
a more abundant supply as the Society islanders did, who actually 
planted them in the ground, hoping they would grow like potatoes, Or 
any other vegetable, yet such is the value they still set on them, that 
'the fishermen would rather receive a wrought nail, to make of it a fish- 
hook according to their own taste, than the best English-made fish-hook 
we could g^ve them. * ^ 

' It has been supposed that the circumstance of Captain Cook's bones 
being separated, and the flesh taken from them, was evidence of a savaee 
and unrelenting barbarity ; but so far from this, it was the result of the 
highest respect they could shew him.* — pp. 100 — 103. 

The reason assigned for the deification of Captain Cook is 
carious. It appears, that in the fabulous age of Hawaii^ a king was 
said to have reigned under the name of Rono or Oronoj who, after 
murdering his wife, became deranged, and, like another Hercules, 
travelled through all the islands boxing and wrestling with every 
one he met He at length took his departure for a foreign country, 
in a strangely shaped canoe ; in the mean time he was deified, and 
his retnrtt having been up to Captain Cook's arrival constantly ex- 
pected by the islanders, they looked upon that distinguished seaman 
as Rono, and worshipped him as a god until they saw his blood 
flow. This was too manifest a proof of his mortality; nevertheless 
many* still regarded him as a god. The spot where he was killed 
is shown by the natives. Some cocoa-nut trees exist near it, in 
two of which there are perforations, caused, it is supposed, by the 
balls which were fired by the ship's crew when they saw their cap- 
taui falL 

We have already noticed some points of resemblance between 
Ae manners of early Greece and those of the people of H«w?aL* 
The fi^Uowing system of divination from the inspectiow o!i eoXx«^ 
is prededy t& same as that which vras practised anxoivg^ xScia '^^i- 
mans: 

VOL, I J. r> 




21 The Santlwith Islands. 

' Whenever war was in contemplation, the poe tiro (divinen 
priests) were directed to slay the accustomed victims, and consult the 

f;ods. Animals only were used on these occoatonB, generally hogs and 
owls. The priests ofTered their prayers and the diviners sacrificed the 
victims, observed the manner in which they expired, the appearance of 
their entraib, and other signs. Sometimes, when the animal was alain, 
they embowelled it, took out the spleen, and, holding it in their hands, 
offered their prayers. If they did not receive an answer, war was de- 
ferred. They also slept in the temple where the gods were kept, and, 
after the war-god had revealed his will by a vision or dream, or some 
other supernatural means, they communicated it to the king and war- 
riors, and war was either determined or relinquished accoxdiagly.' — 
p. 118. 

The people of Hawaii, Lowever, upon occasions of great im- 
portance, proceeded to the extent of sacrificing human -victims, in 
order ' to ensure the co-operation of the war-gods in the desti^ction 
of their enemies.' The victims were selected from among their 
captives, or if there were none, from among those who had violated 
the rigid law of the laim, or rendered tliemselves obnoxious to the 
chiefs. They were deprived of life by a blow on the head with a- 
club or stone ; sometimes they were stabbed. These abominaUe 
practices, however, have, we believe, wholly ceased since the 
abrogation of the lalm system, and the dissolution of the order of 
priests by which it was sustained. "We must refer to the work for 
the many curious details which it supplies relative to the proceed- 
ings that are usually adopted in the Sandwich islands upon the 
commencement of a war, the mode in which they carry it on by 
land and sea, their weapons and costume, and their mourning 
ceremonies at the deaths of their chiefs, all of which the intelligent 
reader will find well worth his attention. One of their most ex- 
traordinary customs on the latter occasion was, that those who 
were anxious to show their respect for a departed chief or his 
family, knocked out with a stone a front tooth, a token of grief 
the repetition of which had deprived every person who had reached 
a mature age before the subversion of the ancient system, of nearly 
the whole stock of his best and most ornamental teeth. This they 
did to make them remember the dead ! 

In tlie course of their tour, the principal object of the Mission- 
aries' curiosity was the volcano, if such it may be called, of 
Kirauea, in the south-eastern part of the island. Their guide 
objected strongly to their going thither, as he was afraid that they 
might offend the goddess of the place, Pele, by some act of dis- 
respect. He seems to have been a very superstitious dog, and to 
have profited little from their instructions or example. They, 
however, obtained the assistance of some of the natives, and 
ascended the high land on which the volcano is situated, the due 
elevation of which above the level of the sea the Missionaries had 
no means of estimating. It is in l\ie dis«"\cl o^ KB:5a,^^\u, abotU, 
twenty miles from the gea-shore, and if conecA-j iest^CcwA, %& -«^ 



The Sandwich Islands^ SI 1 

have no doubt it is^ by Mr. Ellis, a view of it would alone be 
almost worth a voyage to the Pacific. The following sketch of the 
distant appearance of the volcanic flame by night is picturesque : 

^ While the natives were sitting rouB4 the fire, Mr. Thurston and I 
ascended to the upper region, and walked to a rising ground, to see if 
we could discern the lieht of the volcano. The wind blew fresh from 
the mountains ; the noise of the rolling surf, to which we had been 
accustomed on the shore, was not heard ; and the s^Uloess of the night 
was only disturbed by the chirping of the insects in the grass. The sky 
was clear, except in the eastern horizon, where a few light clouds arose, 
and slowly floated acrosis the expanse of heaven. On looking towards 
the north-east, we saw a broad column of light rising to a considerable 
elevation in the air, and immediately above it some bright clouds, or thin 
vapours, beautifully tinged with red on the under side. We had no 
douht that the column of light arose from the large crater, and that its 
fires illuminated the surrounding atmosphere. The fleecy clouds gene- 
rally passed over the luminous column in a south-east direction. As 
they approached it, the side towards the place where we stood became 
genersdly bright ; afterwards the under edge oqly reflected the volcanic 
ure ; and in a little time each cloud passed entirely away, and was sue* 
ceeded by another. We remained some time to observe the beautiful 
phenomenon occasioned by the reflection of the volcanic fire, and the 
more magnificent spectacle presented by the multitude and brilliancy of 
the heavenly bodies.' — pp. 197, 198. 

Guided by the flame and smoke, they next morning resumed 
their way, and afl:er travelling some hours they reached a wide 
waste of ancient lava, ^ resembling in appearance an inland sea,- 
bounded by distant mountains.' It seemed as if it had been once 
an entire fluid mass, and had become suddenly petrified. Its sur-* 
face was undulated, and even on the tops of the billows a smaller 
ripple was distinctly marked, ^ like that observed on the surface of 
the sea at the first springing up of a breeze, or the passing currents 
of air which produce what the sailors call a cat's paw.' About two 
o'clock in the afternoon the crater of Kirauea suddenly burst upon 
their view ; but we must allow Mr. EUis to describe this magni- 
ficent scene in his own words. 

^ We expected to have seen a mountain with a broad base and rough 
indented sides, composed of loose slags or hardened streams of lava, 
and whose summit would have presented a rugged wall of scoria, form- 
mg the rim of a mighty caldron. But instead of this, we found ourselves 
on the edge of a steep precipice, with a vast plain before us, fifteen or 
sixteen miles in circumference, and sunk from 200 to 400 feet below 
its original level. The surface of this plain was uneven, and strewed 
over with huge stones and volcanic rocks, and in the centre of it was 
the great crater, at the distance of a mile and a half from the precipice 
on which we were standing. Our guides led us round towards the north 
end of the ridge, in order to find a place by which we might descend i<(^ 
the plain below. — It required, however, the greatest coo^aoti, «a ^^ 
stcmes aad A'agments of rock frequently gave way ntidet ovxx: t^^x., vcA 

P 2 




212 The Sajtdwich Islands. 

rolled down from above ; but, with all our core, we did not reach the 
battOLii without several tails and slight bruises. 

' The steep wliich we had descended was formed of volcanic matter, : 
apparentlv a light red and grey kind of lava, vesicular, and lying in .. 
horizontal strata, varying in thickness from one to forty feet. In a small k 
Bumber of places the different strata of lava were also rent in peqien- U 
dicular or oblique directions, from the top to the bottom, either by ( 
earthquakes or other violent convulsions of the ground connected witn 'J! 
the action of the adjacent volcano. After walking some distance over ■- 
the sunkea plain, which in several places sounded hollow under our feet, ^ 
we at length came to the edge of the great crater, where a spectacle, ■ 
sublime and even appalling, presented itself before us — ■■ 

' " We stopped, and trembled.' C 

Astonishment and awe for some moments rendered us mute, and, like I 
statues, we stood fixed to the spot, with our eyes riveted on (he abyss | 
below. Immediately before ua yawned an immense gulf, in the form of 
a crescent, about two miles in length, from north-east to south-west, 
nearly a mile in width, and apparently 800 feet deep. The bottom was 
covered with lava, and the south.west and northern parts of it were ons 
vast flood of burning matter, in a state of terrific ebullition, rolling to 
and fro its " fiery surge" and flaming billows. Fifty-one conical islands, 
of varied form and size, containing so many craters, rose cither round 
the edge or from the surface of the burning lake. Twenty-two con- 
stantly emitted columns of grey smoke, or pyramids of brilliant flame; 
and several of tliese at the same time vomited from their ignited mouths 
streams of lava, which rolled in blazing torrents down their black 
indented sides into the boiling mass below. 

' The existence of these conical craters led us to conclude, that the 
boiling caldron of lava before us did not form the focus of the volcano; 
that this mass of melted lava was comparatively shallow ; and that the 
basin in wliich it was contained was separated, by a stratum of solid 
matter, from the great volcanic abyss, which constantly poured out its 
melted contents througli these numerous craters iuto this upper re- 
servoir. — 

' The sides of the gulf before us, although composed of difFerent 
strata of ancient lava, were perpendicular for about 400 feet, and rose 
from a wide horizontal ledge of solid black lava of irregular breadth, 
but extending completely round. Beneath this ledge the sides sloped 
gradually towards the burning lake, which was, as nearly as we could 

{' udgG, 300 or 400 feet lower. It was evident that the large crater had 
>een recently filled with liquid lava up to this black ledge, and bad, by 
some subterranean canal, emptied itself into tlie sea, or upon the low 
land on the shore. The greV} and in some places apparently calciuedi 
sides of ihc great crater belore us ; the fissures which intersected the 
surface of the plain on which we were standing ; the long banks of sul- 
phur on the opposite side of the abyss; the vigorous action of the 
numerous small craters on its borders ; the dense columns of vapour and 
smoke, that rose at the north and south end of the plain ; togetner with 
the ridge of steep rocks by which it was surrounded, rising probably i& 
some places 300 or 400 feet in perpendicular height, presented an im- 
mense volcanic panorama, the effect of wh\c\v was gcealii'i aMgauaAeA^q 
''■- constant roaring of the vast furnaces belovj.' — ^V-'^^ — '^^- ^^ 



The Sandmch Islands. 313 

We must add Mr* Ellis's description of the appearance of the 
volcano daring the night. 

^ Between nine and ten o'clock, the dark clouds and heavy fog, that 
since the setting of the sun had hung over the volcano, gradually cleared 
away, and the fires of Kirauea, darting their fierce light athwart the 
midnight gloom, unfolded a sight terrible and sublime beyond all we 
had yet seen. 

* The agitated mass of liquid lava, like a flood of melted metal, raged 
with tumultuous whirl. The lively flame that danced over its undulating 
surface, tinged with sulphureous blue, or glowing with mineral red, cast 
a broad glare of dazzling light on the indented sides of the insulated 
craters, whose roaring mouths, amidst rising flames, and eddying streams 
of fire, shot up, at frequent intervals, with loudest detonations, spherical 
masses of fnsmg lava, or bright ignited stones. 

* The dark bold outline of the perpendicular and jutting rocks around 
formed a striking contrast with the luminous lake below, whose vivid 
rays, thrown on the rugged promontories, and reflected by the over- 
hcmging clouds, combined to complete the awful grandeur of the im- 
posing scene. We sat gazing at the magnificent phenomena for several 
hours, when we laid ourselves down on our mats, in order to observe 
more leisurely their varying aspect ; for, although we had travelled 
upwards of twenty miles since the morning, and were both weary and 

\ cold, we felt but little disposition to sleep. This disinclination was pro- 
; bably increased by our proximity to the yawning gulf, and our convic- 
I tion, that the detachment of a fragment from beneath the overhanging 
[ pile on which we were reclining, or the slightest concussion of the earth, 
E which every thing around indicated to be no unfrequent occuirence, 
t would perlmps precipitate us, amidst the horrid crash of falling rocks, 

hlo the burning lake immediately before us. 
^ The natives, who probably viewed the scene with thoughts and feel- 

bgs somewhat difierent from ours, seemed, however, equally interested. 

Xbey sat most of the night talking of the achievements of P^l^, and 

regarding with a superstitious fear, at which we were not surprised, the . 

brillinit exhibition. They considered it the primeval abode of their 

volcanic deities.' — pp. 215, 216. 

From the account of the natives of the district, Mr. Ellis col- 
lected that this volcano had been burning from time immemorial ; 
diat in the earlier ages it used to boil up and inundate the adjacent 
country, but that ^ for many kings' reigns past it had kept below 
the level of the surrounding plain, continually extending its surface 
and increasing its depth, and occasionally throwing up, with violent 
explosion, huge rocks or red hot stones. These eruptions, they 
sa^ were always accompanied by dreadful earthquakes, loud claps 
of tfaufider, with vivid and quick succeeding lightning.' About 
half a mile distant from the volcano the travellers found two or 
three small pools of fresh and sweet water, which, independently 
of ika luxury they afforded, were great natural curiosities. They 
appeared to have been formed by a natural process of dvstiLVai?dssiv« 

• * Thesutfaceoftbe ground in the vicinity was percei^tVyVj Nv^tci) ^^ 
rent bf Beveral deep irregular chasms, from wYiicU sterol «cA \>Dk\0«- 

P 3 




214 The Sand'J!ick Islands. 

vapours continually aroee. In some places these chasms were two ft 
wide, and from them a volume of steam ascended, which waE iramedi- 
ately condensed by the cool mountain-air, and driven, like drizzling rain, • 
into hollows in the compact lava on the leeward side of the chasms. 
The pools, which were six or eight feet from the chasms, were surrounded < 
and covered by flags, rushes, and tall grass. Nourished by the moisture 
of the vapours, these plants flourished luxuriantly, and, in their turn, 
sheltered the pools from the heat of the sun, and prevented evaporation. 
We expected to find the water warm, but in this respect we were also ' 
agreeably disappointed.' — p. 210. 

We regret that our limits prevent us Jrom following our travellers ' 
in the remainder of their tour through the island, or indeed from 
noticing any thing further in this vahiable and excellent work, 
except a few of the customs which serve most strongly to mark 
the character of the people. The following specimen ol liberali^ 
on a question of religion mi^ht be held up to the imitation of 
countries which deem themselves civilised. Mr. Ellis, conversiiw 
with an old woman ader one of his sermons, to which she bad 
been an attentive listener, asked her ' if she thought Jehovah was 
good, and those happy whomade him their God?' She answered, 
' He is your good God (or best God), and it is right that you should 
worship him; but Pele is my deity, and the great goddess of 
Hawaii.' This poor barbarian was, it seems, not insensible to 
the rights of conscience. 

Infanticide, we lament to say, stiil prevails throughout all the 
Sandwich islands, and, with the exception of the higher class of 
chie^, is practised by all ranks of people. The laws and usages 
of the islands acknowledge in the father a right over the life of his 
ofifspring; and, among the lower orders, however numerous their 
children, parents seldom rear more than two or three. ' All the others 
are destroyed, sometimes shortly after birth, generally during the 
first year of their age." More than half of the children of the 
country are thus cut off in infancy. The principal motive which 
gives rise to this horrid practice is idleness, and the trouble of bring- 
ing children up ! The (jeople are fond of a wandering manner of 
lite, and consider children a burden and a restraint I it is some 
consolation, however, to know that this depraved custom prevMls 
less extensively now than before the introduction of Christianity. 
The children who are permitted to live are familiarised with the 
■ sea at a very tender age, and from boyhood iipwards they are 
induced by the heat of the climate to spend a great portion of their 
time in the water, where they gambol about and go through a great 
variety of games. 

Like the natives of some of the back settlements in North Ame- 
rica, the pec^le of the Sandwich islands use dogs as an article of 
food, and generally prefer them to pigs, goats, and kids. The 
government of the islands is an absolute and hereditary monarchy. 
JVie rank of ibe cbie/s is also heieitXai:^ •, sa\^\)ae.^u>n^c«a,l«i8e 



CtfUtm MaiilofuTs Narrative. 215 

AcKJe vfao have naclaim by birth) to any office or distinction which 
he thinks proper. The present prime minister, who is called by 
foreigners ^^ William Pitt," was elevated to his station from being 
a chief of the third or fourth rank, and has been in office a 
loiu^tfane. 

^eiliaps the most extraordinary tradition among the people of 
diese islaids, or of any other country in the world,' is that which 
relates to a celebrated personage whom they call Kana. He is 
said to have been so tall that ' he could walk through the sea from 
one island to another ; stand with one foot on the island of Oahu, 
and the other on Tauai, which is seventy miles distant.' This is 
not alL On one occasion the people of Hawaii offended a king of 
a distant island, who in revenue walked off one fine morning with 
the sun in his pocket, and left them in a state of utter darkness. 
It was no trouble to Kana to. walk after him, take the sun from 
him, and then to fix it in the heavens, where it has remained ever 
isince ! This is somewhat extraordinary, it must be owned ; yet 
tiie philosophic reader will find ^ a great deal of matter for reflec- 
tion in the traditions of the Sandwich and other islands of the 
Paeiftc. The mystery is, how it happens that they coincide so 
frequently with those of the ancient Pagan nations of Europe, and 
sometimes even with those of the Jews, — for they have also, it seems, 
amongst them, vague stories of an universal deluge \ 



Art. XII. Narrative of the Surrender of Buonaparte^ and qfhu Resi'- 
dence on board H, M, 5. Bellerophon ; with a Detail of the principal 
Events that occurred in that Snip between the 24th of May and the 
8th of August, 1815. By Captain F. L. Maitland, C.B. 8vo. pp.2458. 
London. Colbum. 1826. 

Although little novelty as to the leading events connected with 
the surrender of Buonaparte to Captain Maitland was to be ex- 
pected in a narrative of them published eleven years after they 
occurred, yet we own that we opened this volume with a highly 
excited curiosity, and found it in every page full of interest. Facts, 
about which there was some uncertainty, are related in their true 
colours ; circumstances, which were before exaggerated, are here 
reduced to their simple and natural shapes ; several mere fictions 
are exposed, and some anecdotes and traits of Buonaparte's charac- 
ter and conduct while on board the Bellerophon are related, with 
which we were not before acquainted. The details given respect- 
ing Buonaparte's suite, though of course less interesting, serve to 
esmibit some of those individuals in a light in which they had not 
hitherto appeared. From the ofiicial documents interspersed through 
the work Captain Maitland completely justifies the whole tenour of 
his conduct, during a most extraordinary and anxious setNvcfe^ ^ «xv 
officer and a man of honour^ and triumphantly Nm^AC^Xies \vvcb&^ 



Sl€ Captain Maitlancts Narrative. 

from die Tindictive char^ made by Napoleon and his followers, tliat 
he was promised an asylum in England before he surrendered him- 
Belf, and that there was a violation of good faith in the treatment 
which he received after he placed himself at the disposal of our 
government. 

We are informed, in the preface, that immediately after the 
events recorded in tiiis narrative took place, it was written for the 
private perusal of the author's friends, but that, for many causes, 
which he has not thought fit to explain, he deemed the publication 
of it at that time inexpedient. Tliough the greater number of tliose 
causes had been long since removed, lie still had no intention of 
bringing it forward until, by accident, it fell into the hands of ' a 
most celebrated literary character,' (we believe Sir Walter Scott,) 
who expressed a favourable opinion of its merits, and strongly 
recommendeil its publication. We have been some time aware of 
its existence, mid feel indebted, as no doubt so will the public at 
large, to the eminent individual to whose advice and influence we 
owe the appearance of a work in every respect so important. 

It appears that on the 30th of May, 1615, Captain MaJtland 
being in command of the Bellevophon received orders from Sir 
Henry Hotham to proceed off Rocliefort, for the purpose of pre- 
venting a corvette from putting to sea, which, according to inform- 
ation in possession of the British government, ' was to carry 
proposals from Buonaparte to the West India colonies to declare in 
his favour.' He was also to reconnoitre the roadstead of Roche- 
fort, and report to the Admiral the number and state of the ships 
of war lying there. Having performed this duty, which afterwards 
turned out to have been a most providential measure, he was em- 
ployed until the 28th of June in t-apturing such French vessels as 
came within his reach. On that day he first received intelligence 
of the defeat of Buonaparte at Waterloo, and on the 30th, by a boat 
that came off from Bourdeaux, be received a letter, ' without date or 
subscription, written on very thin paper, ih English, and concealed 
within a quill,' intimating the probability that Buonaparte would at- 
tempt to effect his escape from Fmnce on some part of the coast from 
La Teste to Bourdeadx, and desiring a sharp eye to be kept on all 
American vessels sailing from thence. The intelligence announced 
in this letter was the more extraordinary, as it must have been 
written on the 29th of June, when we know that Buonaparte was 
still at Paris. Was the object of it to divert the attention of the 
British squadron from the port of Rochefort ? Or was it the an- 
nouncement of a plan that had been really concerted, and after- 
wards abandoned ? However this may be, Captain Maitland was 
of opinion that Buonaparte was much more likely to make the 
attempt at Rochefort, where there were two large frigates, a ship 
corvette, and a large brig ready tor sea. On the 7th of July he 
received a dispatch from Sir Henry Hotham, fully confirming 
tAi's opinion, and directing him to use the utmost \\^ai\t« \u o\d^ 
io prevent Buonaparte from escaping. 



i 



r 



CapUUn Maiiland^s 'Narrative. 2^1-T 

. Am this' tim^ several ships were actively engaged in' looking out 
for Napoleon in the Chaimeli and about the latitude of Ushaht, off 
Cape Finisterre, and indeed along the whole coast, so that even if 
lie had eluded the Bellerophon, he would still have scarcely had 
any chance of getting to America in safety. On the 10th of July, 
<5eneral' Savary and Count Las Cases came out from the Isle 
^Aix in a small schooner under a flag of truce, and presetited to 
Captain Maidand a letter from Count Bertrand, stating that Na- 
poleon haying abdicated the throne of France, and chosen America 
as a retreat^: md b^ing in expectation of receiving a passport from 
the Britisb government for which he had applied, he wished to know 
whether it vras intended to throw any impediment in the way of their 
voyage. Captain Maitland answered, that as the two countries were 
at war he'could not permit any ship of war to put to sea from Roche- 
fort, without specific orders from his commanding officer, Sir Henry 
Hotham, then in Quiberon bay. This he added in order to induce 
Buonaparte to wait for the Admiral's answer, as he apprehended 
that if the frigates attempted to force a passage at that time, he had 
not sufficient assistance to prevent them. Cha the 14th, Count Las 
Cases, attended by GenersJ LaUemand, came out again to know if 
an answer had been received from the Admiral, and to say that the 
Emperor was wiUing to proceed to America, ^ even in a British ship 
of war,' if the British government would sanction it. Captain 
Maitland answered, that he had no authority to agree to any ar- 
ranffement of that sort, but that he was ready to receive Buona- 
parte into his ship and convey him to England, without entering 
into any promise as to the reception he might meet with there. 
Daring the conversation that followed General Lallemand said, 
that the Emperor was living at the hotel in the Grand Place at 
RocheioTt, and was highly popular there, whereas it is now known 
that during the whole of these negociations Napoleon was on 
board one of the frigates at the Isle a Aix. 

Some days before this a plan was thought of for enabling Na- 
pcdeon to escape in a Danish sloop, ^ concealed in a cask stowed 
in the ballast, with tubes so constructed as to convey air for his 
breathing.' Information of this plan was conveyed to Captain 
Maidana, and it appears that nothing prevented its execution but 
the fear that it was too hazardous ; for if the vessel had been de- 
tained a day or two, the fugitive ' would have been obliged to 
make his situation known, and thereby forfeited all claims to the 
good treatment he hoped to ensure by a voluntary surrender.' 

Upon the return of Las Cases and Lallemand on the 14th of 
July, to the Isle d'Aix, they reported Captain Maitland's answer to 
Napoleon. It has been since made known, that in a council held 
on the night of the ISth, it was determined that Napoleon should 
throw himself on the generosity of the English peop\^\ ^wdiV^ 
wrote the celebrated letter to the Prince-Regent, in nvVvvAvW cophv- 
pared bis mtaaUon to that of Themistocles- He, tVvetefetfe, V«A 



218 Captain Maiiland's Narrative. 

already decided to surrender himself to Captain Maitland, and ac- 
cordingly on the 1 5th of July, he and his suite were received od 
board the Bellerophon. He was received witli no peculiar honoun; 
and liis appearance is thus described : 

' BuoDoparte's dress was an olive-coloured great coat over a green 
uniform, with scarlet cape and cutfs, green lapels turned back and edged I . 
with scarlet, skirts hooked back with bugle-horns embroidered ia gold; {-■ 
plain su){ar-loaf buttons and gold epaulettesi being the uniform of the ^- 
Chasseur k Cheval of the Imperial Guard. He wore the atar, or grsnd ir^ 
cross of the Legion of Honour, and the small cross of that order; the i- 
Iron Crown ; and the Union, appended to the button-hole of bis left . 
lapel. He had on a small cocked hat, with a tri-colourcd cockadci ' 
plain gold-hilted sword, military boots, and white waistcoat and breechec. L 
The following day he appeared in shoes, with gold buckles, and silk j„ 
stockings — the dress he always wore afterwords, while with me.' — 
p- 70. 

The circumstances of his reception and conduct on board the 
Bellerophon are so generally known and remembered, that we need 
□ot follow Captain Maitland in this part of his narrative, tliougb It 
is really minute, and aniniated in a high degree. From the first 
moment of seeing him, it is evident that the Impression made by ^ 
Napoleon on the Captain was of the most favourable descripdon- e 
He speaks of his manners as extremely fascinating, aDassumina « 
and gendeman-like during the whole period of his stay in the Bd- - 
lerophon. It is very pleasing to observe, that Captain Maitland on •■ 
his side treated the fallen conqueror with all the respect to whids - 
Lis misfortunes and his situation entitled him, without at the same J' 
time transgressing the line of his duty. We pass over the arrival ^ 
of the Bellerophon in Torbay, and afterwards off Plymouth, the i_ 
extreme anger of Buonaparte and his suite on hearing that he was I 
to be sent to St. Helena, his well known " Protest" against this « 
measure, the attempt of Madame Bertrand to throw herself into >■ 
the sea, and a crowd of other interesting circumstances more oc : 
less known, as our limits do not allow us to enter into them. TTie 
books that Buonaparte chiefly read were a life of Washington and - 
Ossian's poems. One of the most curious circumstances that oo ' 
curred while the Bellerophon was off Plymouth was an attempt ' 
made by a person under pi-osecution for a libel on a naval officer, 
censuring his conduct on the West India station, when a French . 
squadron was in those seas, to serve a subpoena on Napoleon, in 
order to get him to prove that at the time the French ships were in an 
unserviceable condition ! This was the process that Lord Keith and 
Captain Maitland, and indeed the public generally, believed to be a 
habeas corpus ; and it is quite amusing to observe the ingenuity and 
vigilance with which the Admiral and the Captain combined thmr 
efforts in order to prevent the libeller from serving either themselves 
or Napoleon with the habeas corpus'. — awtittlvat, even if it had 
Jbeea Jssaed, could have ' " ...«..,... 



Q^fUnn MaithfuPs Narrative. 219 

stances. On the 7th of August, Buonaparte and those of his suite 
-who agreed to go with him to St. Helena, were transferred to 
the Nortbnmberland ; and upon completing his narrative up to this 
period, Captain Maithmd adds a few anecdotes, from which we 
shall select two or three as specimens. 

/ N^bleon Buoni^arte, when he came on hoard the Bellerophony on 
the 15Xh of July, 1815, wanted exactly one month of completing his 
Ibrty-sixth year, being born the 15th of August, 1769. He was then a 
remarkably strong, well*built man, about five feet seven inches hieh, his 
limbs particoliUrly well-formed, with a fine ancle and very small mot, of 
n^ch he seemed rather vain, as he always wore, while on board the 
ship, silk stockings and shoes. His hands were also very small, and had 
the-^skfrnpness of ^ woman's rather than the robustness of a man's. His 
eyes light -grey, teeth good ; and when he smiled, the expression of his 
countenance was highly pleasing; when under the influence of dis- 
appointment, however, it assumed a dark gloomy cast. His hair was of 
a very dark brown, nearly approaching to black, and, though a little 
thin en die top and front, had not a erey hair amongst it. His com- 
plexion was a very uncommon one, being of a light sallow colour, differ- 
mg from almost any other I ever met with. From his having become 
corpulent, he had lost much of his personal activity, and, if we are to 
sive credit to those who attended him, a very considerable portion of 
his mental energy was also gone. It is certain his habits were very 
lethargic while he was on board the Bellerophon ; for though he went 
to bed between eight and nine o'clock in the evening, and did not rise 
till about the same hour in the morning, he frequently fell asleep on the 
sofa in the cabin in the course of the day. His general'appearance was 
that of a man rather older than he then was. His manners were ex- 
tremely pleasing and afiable : he joined in every conversation, related 
numerous anecdotes, and endeavoured, in every way, to promote good 
humour : he even a(hnitted his attendants to great familiarity ; and I saw 
one or two instances of their contradicting him in the most direct terms, 
though they generally treated him with much respect. He possessed, 
to a. wonderful degree, a facility in making a mvourable impression 
upon those with \vhom he entered into conversation : this appeared to 
me to be accomplished by turning the subject to matters he supposed 
the person he was addressing was well acquainted with, and on which 
he could show himself to advantage. This had the efiect of putting him 
in good humour with himself; after which it was not a very difficult 
matter to transfer a part of that feeling to the person who had occasioned 
it Lord Keith appears to have formed a very high opinion of the fas- 
cination of his conversation, and expressed it very emphatically to me, 
after he had seen him : speaking of his wish for an interview with the 
Prince Regent, ^^ D — ^n the fellow," he said, *^ if he had obtained an 
interview, with His Royal Highness, in half an hour they would have been 
the best friends in England." He appeared to have great command of 
temper ; for, though no man could have had greater trials than fell to 
lus lot during the time he remained on board the Bellerophon, he never, 
in my presence, or as far as I know, allowed a fretful or captious ex.- 
pression to escape him : even the day he received the no\A^c«XMycv S^t^xiv 
Sir Henry Banbury, that it was determined to send Vnm to St.l^'i^eoa^^ 
he chatted, and conversed with the sanie cheerfalnesB a& \]l%u8\% \\.'>aas^ 



been 



Cti^'iain Maiftttnd's Narrative. 



ieea asserted that he was acting a part oil the time he vhb on board tli^ 
ship ; but fitill, even allowing that to be the case, nothing but great 1 
command of temper could have enabled him to have suetaiced such ■ I 
part for so many days, in his situation.' — pp. 208 — 212. 

We believe it is not doubted that Napoleon had a very Etrong j 
afiection for Maria Louisa and his son. Tlie following trait con- 
tirms the general impression as to his feelings with respect to tbem: 

' One morning he began to talk of his wife and child, and desirri ' 
Marchand to bring two or three miniature pictures to show me: he 
spoke of then) with much feeling and affection. " I feel," said he, " the |_ 
conduct of the allied sovereigns to be more cruel and unjustifiable to- ' 
wards me in that respect than in any other. Why should they deprive 
me of the comforts of domestic society, and take from me what must be 
the dearest objects of affection to every man — my child, and the mother 
of that child.-'" On his expressing himself as above, I looked him ^ 
steadily in the face, to observe whether he showed any emotion: tile '» 
tears were standing in his eyes, and the whole of his countenance ■= 
appeared evidently under the influence of a strong feeling of grief.'— - 
pp-Sl*, 215. ^ 

It is recnarkable that during the greater part of the time which L 
Napoleon spent on board the Bellerophon, though it was so sooa ^ 
after the most signal disasters that perhaps any man had ever en- ^ 
countered, and though it brought him the tidings that he waslo ,1 
be exiled for life to the remote and desolate island of St. Helena, , 
yet his spirits were usually cheerful, and his conversation Suent ]^ 
and amusing. His opinion concerning the Duke of Wellington 
has often been a subject of curiosity. 

' I never heard Buonaparte speak of the battle of Waterloo, or give i 

an opinion of the Duke of Wellington ; but I asked General Bertnmd . 

what Napoleon thought of him. " Why," replied he, " I will give you , 

his opinion nearly in the words he delivered it to me. ' The Duke of , 

Wellington, in the management of an army, is fully equal to myseli) ^ 
with the advantage of possessing more prudence.' " ' — p. 222. 

We shall subjoin but one more extract, which relates to Nnpo- s 
leon's habits of living while on board the Bellerophon. 

' During the time that Buonaparte was on board the Bellerophon, we 
always lived expressly for his accommodation — entirely in the French 
manner ; that is to say, a hot meal was served at ten o'clock in the morn- 
ing, and another at six in the evening ; and so nearly did they resemble 
each other in all respects, that a stran^r might have found difficulty, in 
coming into the cabin, to distinguish breakfast from dinner. His 
maitre d'hotel took the joints off the table, cut them up in portions, and 
then handed them round. Buonaparte ate a great deal, and generally 
of strong solid food : in drinking he was extremely abstemious, con- 
fining himself almost entirely to claret, and seldom taking more than 
half-a-pint at a meal. Immediately after dinner, strong coffee was 
handed round, and then some cordial ; after which ho rose from table, 
the whole meal seldom lasting mote than twenty or twenty-five minutes j 
- ' ' ' ', tiat during the time he waa al ft^e \i«»i «A ftv«'?t^^i 



LeMke en the Greek Revobdion, 2 SI 

^oreramenty he nerer allowed more than fifteen minutes for that pur- 
>ose.— •i^«222» 3^ 

The reader will have been enabled to judge, from the extracts 
whidi we have given, of the attractive character of this work. It 
is throughout written with the utmost simplicity and impartiality, 
and forms a most essential document for one of the most extraor- 
dinary and romantic passages in the history of the late war. 



NOTICES. 

Art. Xm. An Hut(mcal Outline of the Greek Revolution ; with a few 
Repaarks on the present State of Afiairs in that Country. By W. M« 
Leake^ late Lieutenant-Colonel in the Royal Artillery. 8vo. pp. 2(H. 
7«.6dL London. Murray. 1826. 

1 H£RE is no recent work with which we are acquainted that is 
better calculated than this small volume to lead to a fair view of 
the merits of the Greek cause, and the probable results of the 
Ghredc contest. The principal events of the various campaigns by 
sea fflid hsad, from the commencement of the insurrection to Janu- 
ary last, are rapidly sketched. Then the author examines the 
means whidi the contending powers have brought into operation, 
and the resources which are at their command respectively ; and 
this detail is followed by an analysis of the causes of the success 
of one party and the failure of the other. He is evidently a rational 
fidend to the independence of the Greeks ; but his generous sym- 
pathy in their &vour is properly kept in check by nis attachment 
finr tmth, and his anxiety to arrive at just conclusions. The work 
is of the more value on this account, because the greater part of 
those publications to which an Englishman would turn for correct 
information on the affairs of Greece are very unsafe to consult, by 
reason of the imperfect knowledge and exaggerated, though per- 
haps amiable, views of their authors. In looking back to the results 
of the struggle, as far as it has been carried, one is apt to wonder 
that so little progress has been made on either side towards a ter- 
mination. This is ascribed to the ignorance of both parties of the 
art of war. Still it is a circumstance which furnishes, according 
to oar author, the strongest grounds of hope as to the issue in 
their &vour,«that the Greeks should be enabled, after such an 
mfcerval of hostilities, to muster in so strong a force. But the 
advantages on which the revolutionists are chiefly to rely for ulti- 
mate success, this writer thinks, consist in the superiority of their 
seamen, and the natural strength of that part of Greece ^\\<^\:^ 
(faey h^ve already their most permanent possessions. Ixv ^qn^q^vev^ 
ttie grounds of the latter opimony Mr. Leake shows t\i^ uvo^X. \w>a.- 
nate acquaintance with the geographical positioiv o? Oa^ coxxxV 



■ J22 Epistles to a Friend in Town, ^c. ^^ 

any diffinilty In understanding which is removed by an excellent 
map which accompanies the volume. Besides this, the Greeks 
have an irreconcilable hatred to the Ottoman yoke; and they 
know that they never would be restored to the condition of subjects 
to the Turkish power. At the bottom of all, however, is to be 
traced a growing moral superiority in the Greeks, which, sooner 
or later, must vindicate itself. In speculating on the best means 
of adjusting the affairs of Greece, Mr. Leake does not indulge in 
any impossible scheme of chivalrous interference on the part of 
any foreign power. His plan of settlement is founded on the basis 
of the independence of the Morea. The practicability of establishine 
this he clearly shows by reasons drawn from the physical as w^ 
as moral condition of the Greeks. The policy of such a step he 
insists upon in a very cogent manner. If the revolution is sup- 
pressed, and the Ottoman power resumes its original swaj-, she 
will be the immediateprey of Russia; wars upon wars will desolate 
Europe ; Greek enterprise, driven from land, will betake itself to 
the ocean ; the seas about eastern Europe will be the haunt of 
pirates, and commerce can have no safe channel in that quarter. 
Whatever be the true reasoning on these matters, we can have no 
hesitation in paying our tribute to the clear and forcible manner in 
which this work is written. The author's political views appear to 
be formed upon just and well-considered grounds, and they are en- 
forced with that moderation and distrust which would rather solicit 
enquiry than exact belief. 



^^m Art. XIV. Epistles to n Friend in Tomi, Golconda's F6te, and other 
^^H^ Poems, fiy Chandos Leigh, Esq. I2ino. London. 1826. 

" jWb- Leigh's poems are evidently the productions of a scholar 

and a gentleman, and there are occasionally lines and images ; 
worthy of a true poet : but there are tew passages of sustained 
beauty, and not a few in which a beautiful conception is spoiled by 
the careless manner in which the tliouglit is worked out. Some- 
times, however, when Mr. Leigh thinks proper, he can pour out ' 
very rich and harmonious stanzas : 

>' And here and there from golden urns arise, 
Impregn'd with perfumes, purple clouds, that throw. 
Like hues just caught from fair Ausonia's ; ' ' 
Throughout the palace an Elysian glow 
Odorous as roses when they newly blot 
And couches, splendid as the gorgeous 
Of the declining sun, or high or low, 
As suits capricious luxury, iovite 
To sweet repose, indeed, each plea 

At other times, Mr. Leigh s\iows &al W caa vfiite with t 
spirit and energy. 




PdrUamentafy History and Remeai. 229 

* Here all is strenuous idleness ! the hum 

Of men, like children bustling about nought : 

The bawling mountebank, and frequent drum, 

Are glorious substitutes for troublous thought ; 

While business is unheeded and unsought. 

Here to the last they whirl around ; the bier 

Bears to the grave some noisy trifler caught 

By death ; the world's epitome is here ; 

The si^t provokes a smile, yet mingled with a tear.' p. 101. ' 

rhrou^hout all the poems there are scattered many graceful 
i &nciful ideas. We give a cluster of them, detadied at 
idom; 

■ ' A flower 
That Innocence within her hair might weave. 
Wandering on Avon's banks, this lovely eve !* 

* The paths of life are thorny : o'er our heads 
Those grim magicians^ Cares, uplift their tvands /' 

^ The sun is sinking fast, and now is gone 
The vaporous enchantment,* 

^ And shall this ocean, which compared might be 
(If aught the perishable world can have 
Liken'd unto it) with eternity, 
Be lost .at once, as is a single wave 
That breaks upon the beach ? This greedy grave 
Of shattered navies, shall it ever cease 
To gorge its victims,* &c. 

Ve could easily multiply similar quotations ; but as such gemi$ 
better enchased in Mr. Leigh's poetry than in our plain prose^ 
shall here close, entreating those who may be inclined to gather 
e of them, td hasten to * Golconda's P^te.' 
Ve may add that there are lines in the * Epistles to a Friend* 
:h show that the author has a very considerable talent for satirey 
is mood were not too gentle to permit him to indulge it. 

r. XV. Parliamentary History and Revietv ; contaiAing Reports of 
le Proceedings of the Two Houses of Parliament during the 
ession of 1825, 6 Geo. IV. ; with Critical Remarks on the principal 
[easures of the Session. 8vo. pp.808. 1/. lOf. London. Long- 
an and Co; 1826. 

£ plan of this volume is so useful that we wonder it should 
s been reserved for the present time to carry it into execution. 
; proceedings throughout the session, on each suUect respect- 
er, are connected together in unbroken series ; so that we have, 
er the same head, the whole of those debates on a given ques- 
which took place at intervals, long or short, during the 
Tal months of the sitting. Nothing can be more coiwewY^xA. 
the purposes of reference or general instruction lYiaiv \\\e atrvri^* 
[fmncb has been here pursued. Thus under tVie gewetve ^xVfe, 
iland' will be found the proceedings of both Houses Teg^i^«l^ 



^^tsi 



Parliainenlari/ HisloAf and Beview. 



HE 



I 



classified on every measure of external ttiitl internal economy con* ' 

nected with that countiy. The head of ' Foreign Dependencies , 

takes in the interesting tfebates on nenro -slavery, and a varieQ' of ] 

[uesttons involved in our existing colonial relations. There arcj in 

about thirteen divisions, unuer whicli the rabcellaneous pro- 

sdings of the session are reduced ; and the order and complete- 

5S ot the arrangement give to this volume a decided superiority 

'er every other ibnn of compilation of the parUamentary debates 

'faich we have met with. 

. Appended to the Ileports, we find, under tiie title of ' Review,' 

a series of critical and explanatory dissertations on the princqw 

questions to which the attention of the senate has been directed 

during the session. The writer appears to take a liberal side in 

politics; but there is a tone of independence m his judgments 

'bich is far above the spirit of a partisan, and bespeaks any thing 

ither than a tendency to pay indiscriminate liomi^ to persons 

id names. Of the reasoning and conclusions of the author, , 

different persons will naturally form different opinions. But the 

quantity of information alone -which is brought to bear on each of 

iJie various questions discussed would be sufKcient to make this a 

ft> valuable book. We had always thought a leading defect of the ' 

K-parliamentary histories, as tliey are called, to be Uiis, that they P 

p embodied so littleof that contemporary intelligence which was tobe ■ 

found in the thousand shaped of pamphlets, newspapers, and other • 

periodical journals, and which serve so matei'ially to illustrate, lo ^ 

explain, to guide even to a right judgment upon the proceedings * 

of the senate. All wisdom and knowledge are not exclusively con^ ? 

fined to the walls of parliament. There is a great deal of both " 

floating abroad, which appear to us to be entitled to the oppor- ' 

tunity, such as we have an instance of in this volume, of per- " 

ng on the mind of the legislature. There is searcdsJ^ 

longing to our foreign or domestic policy that is Hflf 

thoroughly investigated in all its bearings in this review. W^ 

would notice, for particular commendation, the articles on Negn^i 

slavery and the Budget, subjects rather different in their nature, _ 

liut both extremely important. 

The necessary care, however, does not appear to have been given ^ 
to the business of consulting and comparing the ordinary sources ' 
whence the speeches are derived, with a view to making out •L 
genuine text. In the number of material omissions are tlie lists flf|| 
minorities and majorities, and an index of names and subjects 
'Jtf this compilation be intended to compete with the successors ot 
' die former parliamentary histories, as we think in many respects 
it is entided to supersede them, it should be made to approach a* 
nearly as possible the form of a complete record in itself. A pre' 
tatory treatise commences the volume ; but it appears to us to re^ 
■ no other notice than simp\y lo sa^ V.W\. \x. \s 'ike, " ^ook, 9^ 
yes" oi' Mr. Bentham condcnaei "mlo Xvieul'j-w^x-^a^*^™ 



^^JSci 






THE 



MONTHLY REVIEW, 

JULY, 1826. 



IbiT. I. JJn Inquiry into the Origin of the Lowe and Political Ineti- 
tuHens of Modem Europe, particvJarly of those of England. By 
George Spence, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. 8yo, pp. 600, 15*. London. 
Murray, 1826. 

^ox6 tlie numerous researches into the original structure and 
^y condition of the European states, which have so usefully 
engaged the learning, and honourably distinguished the historical 
iterature, of our times, we have seldom been gratified with any 
reatise more important and valuable than that which Mr. Spence 
las here offered to our notice. To this Liquiry into the Origin of 
he Laws and PoUtical Institutions of Modem Europe, he has 
nx>nght not only a rich store of professional learning;, but* an en- 
areed and philosophical spirit of^ deduction, which me mere study 
>f legal antiquities is rarely found to elicit His opinions, indeed, 
lo not wholly coincide with those in general received on his subject; 
lor, according to our own view of it at least, are his conclusions in 
iome respects substantially founded. But his materials are always 
jerspicuously and skilfiilly arranged, his arguments are plainly and 
candidly stated, and the inferences which he would deduce from 
hem are advanced with equal ingenuity, modesty, and caution. 
Fhe style, too, is admirably suited to me purpose of the work; 
dmple, clear, and most carefully accurate ; it is impossible to mis- 
wpreh^id any part of his meaning ; and in the wnole perusal of 
ihe volume, it is unnecessary to recur twice to tiie same passage, 
or to seek for any farther explanation than the context at once 
afibrds. 

The nature and extent of his inquiry, the plan and the object of 
the work, are ably stated in an opening which he has entided, with 
whimsical tautology, a ^ Prefatoiy Introduction ;* and we caimot 
perhaps do better than give the first passages of it entire, as the 
readiest means of exhibiting the character of the book. 

' The. author of Ihe/oiiowing work having been enfo^j^^ «»iaA ^^»>^^ 
mneein a tmaalation of the Code Napoleon^ was induced in coxaa^S^^^^^ 

VOL, II, NO, VIII. Q 



226 The Laws and Political Institutions of Modern Europe. 

to look attentively iuto the civil law of the Ramans, where he found that 
a givat proportioa of the doctrines of the common law of England, even 
many of those which are purely artificial, were to be found in the Inati- 
tutes, the Pandects, the Code, and the Novels. This iadaced him to 
study the civil and criminal code of the Romans with some minuteness, 
and to compare the political and judicial iostitntions of modern Europe, 
and of our own country in particular, with those of ancient Rome, in 
order to discover to what extent the former might be traced from the 
latter, their venerable and classical originals. 

' For this purpose the author endeavoured to ascertain what was the 
nature of the government, both civil and military, wliich was established 
by the Romans in the provinces of their widely extended empire, of wluch 
Britain formed a part ; also lo ascertain what political and civil rights were 
given by the laws to the inhabitants of the provinces, and what institutiooB 
existed, having for their object the preservation of such rights. He wsi 
then led to look into the history of the times, to see how the lawB weq 
administered, — a moat important Luquiry with reference to what may be 
supposed to have been the disposition of the inliabitants towards the 
government under wliich they were living at the time of the irruption of 
the Germans, and the conduct of the provincials in regard tii the invaders. 
' The next snbject of inquiry in which the author engaged, was Ibe con- 
dition of the German hordes who successfully invaded the Roman pro' , 
vinces, whilst inhabiting their native wilds, and the usages and laws which 
prevailed amongst them. 

' History informs us, that for several centuries previously to t!ie general " 
irruption of the Germans, they were continaally brought in contact or 
communication with the Romans, either in battle, or during temporary 
alliances. How far this circumstance might have influenced the native 
laws aad institutions of the German hordes, naturally offerad itself for 
investigation. 

' The author was next led to inquire what wos the spirit with which the 
German hordes, or, as they are called in tiie histories of the times, the 
Barbarians, were actuated whilst prosecuting their conquests ; whether 
they came with Saracenic zeal to sweep away existing institutions, or 
merely to form settlements in happier and more fertile regions : and tbeo 
to cndcaFOur to ascertain whether the same favourable disposition, which 
shortly afterwards evinced itself by the implicit adoption of the religious 
creed and ceremonial of the conquered people, was extended, and in what 
degree, towards their political and civil institutions. 

' The author then proceeded to an examination of the nntiire of the 
civil and political institutions which were established by the Barbarians 
in the several distinct kingdoms which were founded on the ruins of the 
Western Empire ; more particularly attempting to discover which of 
these institutions might have been adopted from, or inauenced by, the 
pre-existing institutions. He also endeavoured to ascertain what was 
the condition of the conquered people after tlie conquest, and what rights 
they were permitted to retain or to enjoy. His inquiries were afterwards 
directed to the various changes which took place in the laws and iustito- 
tions which were so established ; in regard to continental Europe, down 
to the year 843, when the empire of Charlemagne was dismembered, and 
fAeji^ofiera etn^rea. of Germaay and oi ^i&nce -v^ia (irasi^ft^-, wAv^ 



Tk€ Liaw$^ wul Political Institutions of Modern Europe, 227 

vegard to EDglaml^ down to the establishment of the Norman dynasty, 
when the present constitution of England may be considered to have 
been founded. The reader of the following pages will be conducted along 
the ground which the writer has passed over in the prosecution of these 
several inquiries : he must be referred to the body of the work for the 
result.' — ^Prefatory Introduction, pp. v — viii. 

The nature of this result the reader^ after the hints contained in 
the preceding passages, will probably have Uttle difficulty in anti- 
cipating. Mr. . Spence's researches have evidently left upon his 
mind a strong impression that the settlement of the Barbarians in 
their conquests, and the establishment of the European kingdoms 
according to their modem divisions, were not followed by an entirely 
new order of things in pohtical institutions and jurisprudence; and 
that the various rude nations, who dismembered and overturned 
the Western Empire, did not plant, in the Roman provinces, their 
own systems, de novo as it were, of government and law ; but that 
they were content to receive all the elements of civilization from 
the vanquished, and readily adopted the pohtical and civil institu* 
tions, as well as the religious faith, of the empire which they had 
subjugated. In short, he believes that the feudal system generally, 
the customary law of France, the common law of this country, 
and other characteristics of the European states of the middle ages, 
had not their early and decided origin in the manners and feelings 
which had belonged to the primitive German tribes in their native 
forests ; hut that they may be deduced and traced, in direct con- 
sequence and gradual transition, from the provincial regulations 
and the judicial codes of the Roman empire, which the Barbarians 
had embraced with htde modification or change. 

To the justice of these conclusions we are far from being pre- 
pared to accede ; nor has a very attentive perusal of Mr. Spence's 
volume given us any reason to change our previous opinion. We 
may observe, however, that our dissent from his reasoning is not 
accompanied with any objection to his learned analysis of the 
Roman and Barbarian codes and institutions ; nor have we de- 
tected any errors of moment in the authoritative part of his labours. 
At the same time we freely confess that we have not deemed it 
necessary to examine, point by point, and item by item, a work 
embradns: such multifarious details, necessarily referring to such 
various authorities and records, and containing^the fruits of long 
and laborious study on subjects of singular exactitude and nicety. 
To take such a compilation to pieces, to compare every statement 
with its authority, and to investigate every link in so lengthened 
and intricate a piece of chainwork, would necessarily be to repeat 
the whole of Mr. Spence's own task. And when this should be 
accomplished, the result of the exanunation could only be ade- 
quately reported in an elaborate essay, totally incom:^a.ti\A& ^'«^^3DL 
the limits and design of tbisjoijumal. Out busmen is oxi^j Xo^x^sX 
the student to the work by a statement of its coTvteTv\3&> to oS?et o>kl 



] 



then 

i 



228 The Latos and Political Institutions of Modern Europe. 

general conviction, without farther pledges of ita accuracy in 
taib, and to record our doubts of the conclusions which the aul 
would found upon them. 

Whatever may become of these conclusions, they can little affect 
the value of the work : the learned industry, and the candid spirit, 
with which Mr. Spence has compiled it, arc its best and secure 
titles to praise. He commenceB his inquirv with essays 'on the 
state of the Roman provinces under the Roman emperors,' and 
'on the administration of justice in the provinces.' In these he 
treats successively of the colonial policy of the Romans; of the 
condition of tlie inhabitants of the cities, towns, and country in 
the provinces ; of the patrimonial domains of the emperors ; of 
the public domain and its possessors ; of the manumission of slaves, 
and what he calls (at least rather prematurely) the relation of lord 
and vassal ; of the assemblies of the provincials ; and of the civil 
and military government and revenues of the provinces. He then 
proceeds to give an account of the sources from which the law 
contained in the civil and criminal codes of the Romans were 
rived ; and concludes with a short abstract of these, and a sla 
of tlie forms under which they were judicially administered. 

These essays constitute the first book of his volume ; and 
not hesitate to say, that it contains by far the most luminous, clear, 
and abstract exposition of the Roman law and system of coloniza- 
tion for the conquered provinces, which is to be found in our lan- 
guage. In the elucidation of tlie Roman law, our historians have 
hitherto been much behind some foreign and especially the German 
writers; and Mr. Spence modestly relets that he has had no 
opportunity of cxaminine the works of Niebuhr and others. But 
he has evidently little to learn from ihem ; for he has consulted aD 
the best original authoritieB with a zeal and patience which might 
do no discredit to German industry itself. His concluding remarks 
on the jurisprudence of imperial Rome, are deserving of attention, 
and may, we fear, claim some application to leg^ proceedings 
nearer our own times. 

■ This closes tlm account which I have thought it requisite lo give of 
the Roman laws aud iostitutiona ; in which 1 have eudeavoured to pre- 
sent to the reader a general view of those leading principles which would 
taVe the deepest root in society. The laws, in their detail, were clouded 
by the dark and frequently inconsistent constitutions of the emperors, 
and by snbtleiies and distinctions which, though founded on the nature 
of things, had been multiplied and refined upon by the iugenuity of a long 
succession of lawyers, until their original could scarcely be traced to any 
rational plincijile. Such, indeed, was the extent of this evil, that the 
fules which were applicable to the questions arising in the common traus. 
-autions of life were involved in the moat perplexing obscurity ; and con- 
sidering that on every question of intricacy it wa« necessary to search 
tti^ writtea laws, and where they were sileut to resort to the unwritten 
hw, sad to exlract tiie result of the varivotu Siu^ fiet^viciu'iX'j ^kUMidaa^ 



Th§ Ldw9 and Political Institutions of Modern Europe. 229 

opinicftis that were to be found on the subject, the decision of the judge 
in such a case could only be matter of conjecture. The administration 
of the laws, too, besides being impeded by a superabundance of forms, 
was encumbered to a serious extent with the clumsy machinery of legal 
fictions, which tended, as must be the case in whatever system of juris- 
prudence they may be admitted, to bring discredit on the law and its 
professors; for however well understood by lawyers themselves, such 
contrivances cannot fail to carry with them, in the eyes of the public, 
the appearance of absurdity, and it is to be feared sometimes of imposture.' 
—pp. 208, 209. 

Mr. Spence's second book is devoted to a sketch of ' the laws 
and institutions of the Franks, Goths, and other German nations, 
which [afterwards] established themselves on the ruins of the 
Western Empire.' Here he treats of the native laws and institu- 
tions of the German tribes, and of the attempts made to introduce 
the Roman code and customs among them before their invasions 
of the empire. This book is very brief, and offers Uttle that is 
remarkable, or that was not before to be found in our familiar 
works. 

The third and concluding book, which is the most highly ela^ 
borated part of the volume, takes a general and minute view of 
* thie setuement of the German nations in the Roman provinces, 
and of the laws and institutions established by them after their 
settlement.' It examines the natiu'e and spirit of the barbarian 
conquests, the codes of laws which were compiled and promulgated 
by me Barbarians ; the prerogatives, courts, and revenues oftheSr 
lings ; the state and privileges of the clergy, nobility, and freemen 
b general ; the condition oi slaves and freedmen ; the ' relation of 
.'patron and client' or lord and vassal, of husband and wife, parei^ 
and child, guardian and ward ; and, in short, the whole structure 
of the jurisprudence and poUdcal institutions which was erected in 
the new states. The third book and the volume close with a ge- 
neral summary or review of the barbarian institutions in comparison 
with those of Rome, in which Mr. Spence adopts the fouowing 
conclusion. 

' In taking a retrospective glance at the laws and institutions which 
have been the subject of the preceding chapters of this book, it is im- 
possible not to observe the marked similarity which existed between those 
of each of the states of Europe. Knowing as we do that the institutions 
which prevailed amongst the Barbarians in their native countries, were 
ill calculated for the artificial relations which are introduced into society, 
even in the first stages of civilization, and that there existed in the 
countries in which the Barbarians finally settled, institutions and laws 
well calculated for a state of society advancing in civilization, as were 
the Barbarians when their codes were compiled, we arc naturally led to 
suppose that the Barbarians would be induced to adopt, in a ^^at di^^^^, 
the laws and institutions of the conquered countm«; A. eo\!K^^T\swv'<3^ 
the laws and institutions of the Barbarians with t\\os© NvYvVtV \v^ \i^'^* 
veiled befcnv the conquest, confirms this supposition.* — ^^j. 5^^. 



"930 The Laws and Political Inttilutions of Modern Europe. 

We shall copy only one more paf^sagc as an example of Mr. 
Spence's general style and mode of tracing the Wac^ of his subject. 
We sdect the following notice * of the origin of equitable juria- 
diction in England.' 

' The code of equity which ia now administered ia the CourtB of CliaD- 
ccry aad Exchequer, had its origin from circumstuices very aimilar to 
those which gave rise to the iir^Gtoriaii coda of the Romans. After a 
socccasioD of decisions in the courts of King's Bench and Commou Pleas, 
and the acts of the legislaturo had formed a system of positive law, it 
naa found expedient that there should be some tribunal, in which its 
severities might be mitigated, and its defects supplied. The latter 
Emperors, claimed tlie sole right of aidministering relief agonal the 
rigours of the eatahlished laws, aud supplying their defects. Under 
Bdgar, this prerogative was conferred, by general aasent/Upon the Anglo- 
Saxon kings. It was not likely that it should be renounced by tlie 
Norman sovereigns. Under the early Norman monarchs, this prerogative 
appears to have been delegated to the king's select council, and to have 
been resorted to only on extraordinary occasions. In the reign of Richard 
n,, it was committed to tlie Lord Chancellor to control the administration 
of the law, by the application of equitable principles, and to administer 
relief wliere llie law was defective : *ud the process of sabptena, which 
was invented in the latter part of the reign of Edward III., was brought 
into use, to euable him to exercise such jurisdiction. From this time, as 
before observed, the Chancery became a distinct court. 

' The enforcing the performance of trusts, which the ecclesiastical 
courts bad been prohibited from interfering with, soon became the moat 
important branch of the businesa of this court after ita regular es- 
tablishment. During the civil commotions which commenced in the 
reign of Richard II., many persons, who from inclination or neces- 
sity took part with one party or the other, with a view to avoid for- 
feitures of their estates, conveyed them to indifferent persons, for the 
use of themselves or their relations, a contrivance similar to that whicl) 
we learn from the stat. 15 Rich. II. c. 5, was then frequently resorted to 
by the clcr^, to avoid the etalutes of mortmain. Many of the persouB 
to whom such conveyances were made, aware that at law there was no 
remedy against them for auy breach of tlie trust imposed, sold the estates-, 
and treated them as their own. Constant applications appear to have 
been made to the king and the council to afford a remedy against such 
manifest frauds ; aud the mode adopted was to grant a writ ul^ subpcena, 
to compel the person complained of to appear before the Chancellor in 
his newly erected Court, and abide the order uf that court on the subject 
In the reigns of Richard II. Henry IV. Henry V. and Henry VL, the 
Chauccllors, by a series of decisions on the cases so brought before them, 
formed a regular code on the subject of uses and trusts. 

' From the reign of Edward III. downwards, continual complaints were 

made by the Commons against the jurisdiction thus assumed by the 

council and by the Chancery, independent of the courts of common law. 

Jo the 17th year ol Kichard II., the remonstrances of the Commouswere 

coji/iaed to preventing persona being brought va.'Vi tt\«CWi«aii^ oafnUe 

suggestioaa; so that matters cogniaable bj t\iB caoimovi. \b.« nu^^aj' 



aizable It^ tVte cQ(&mQv\. \s.'« iiu^^^j)|^ 



I%e Laws and Political Imtitutiom of Modern Europe. 231 

be drawn into that cbart. In the 1st of Henry VI., the Commons re- 
quired that no subpoena sbould issue to call any one into Chancery witbout 
a bill being first filed, stating the grounds of complaint, and a certificate 
signed by two justices of one bench or the other, purporting that the 
matters complained of were not remediable by the courts of common law. 
By the statute of the 15tb Henry VI. c. 4, all persons suing out sub- 
poenas in the Chancery were required to give security, to answer all 
damages and expenses, in case tha matter contained in their bills were 
not made good ; the Chancery being still looked upon with great jealousy*. 
This statute, bowever, and that of 31 Hen. VI. c. 2. established the sup- 
pletory jurisdiction of the Chancellor, which indeed bad received an 
indirect sanction by the stat. 17 Rich. II. c. 6. Succeeding Chancellors, 
particularly from the time of Sir Thomas More, in the list of whom 
appear tbe names of Lord Bacon, Lord Somers, aud Lord Hardwicke, 
keeping in view the principle so often inforced by the Commons, by a 
series of legislaiorial decisions, established a system of jurisprudence 
very similar .to, but considerably more extensive than, tbat whiqb was 
exercised by the Roman proconsul, sitting in his extraordinary jurisdiction. 
" It may be said," says Mr. Barrington, alluding to his own times, " that 
we owe the present beneficial and rational system of equity to tbe peculiar 
national felicity of the greatest lawyer and statesman of this or perhaps 
any otber country baving presided in this court near twenty years, witbout 
a single decree having been reversed;*" either in the whole or any part of 
it : an infallibility which in no other instance was ever the lot of hu- 
manity." To what extent this system has been improved and perfected 
under tbe auspices of the noble person who has now presided in this 
court upwards of twenty^fonr years, neither is it yet perhaps the time, 
nor is the author the person, to pass a judgment.'— pp. 561---565. 

Having disclaimed the design to subject the innumerable details 
of Mr. Spence's volume upon the present occasion to a full and 
minute investigation^ we shall not do so much injustice to the work 
as to rest a serious and final judgment, upon the inconsistences 
which have been exposed to us in our cursory examination of 
his opinions. But we may just refer to his treatment of one im- 
prtant division of the question, for the sake of showing the manner 
in which the bent of his judgment is generally devdoped. We 
shall select for this purpose the feudal system ; because, viewed as 
an iiistitution of the new and rude monarchies of Europe, it has 
generally been held to form the most striking distinction, between 
U|e policy of the Barbarians and that, not oidy of the Romans 
and Grecians, but of all the other societies of antiquity. And 
therefore it is to contravene this doctrine, and to prove that the 
feudal system may be traced from the Roman policy of colonization, 
that Mr. Spence has put forth his most strenuous powers of mduc- 
tion. He is, as we premised, in no degree deserving of the impu- 
tation of any intentional departure from the fair train of reasoning : 
he is incapable, we are sure, of arguing for the sake ot* \\ct»\^, q>\ 
knowii^ly wresting a single fact to an unfounded eoxidrasvoxL* ^>ivv 
Jke bad embraced a particular creed on bis greal c\vxb^oxw ", »xA vs- 



^31 The LaKS eind Political Imlitutions of Modern Europe. 

was not in human nature to resist the impulae to place the doctrine 
which he would advocate in the most plausible and attractive hght. 
Accordingly, feeling that the peculianty of the feudal sj-stem and 
its disagreement with the prominent form of the Roman institutions, 
composed the weakest side of his cause, he has here presupposed 
that which was to be proved, confounded coincidences with cause 
and effect, caught at the most distant points of resemblance, re- 
jected no possible or plausible inference that occurred to him, and, 
in short, adopted every material and weapon wherewith per fat 
et nefas he might fight out the challenge or bia championship. 

This resolution is very easily seen in tlie totally unwarranted tide 
of one of his chapters on the Roman law (p. 54J : on ' the relation 
of lord and vassal.' Who would here imagine that he designed 
to speak of the old Roman conneclion of patron and client, and 
thence to trace up the feudal system to the consular era of the 
republic ? But mis distinction of lord and vassal, either in the 
feudal terms, or the true feudal signification, was totally unknown 
among the Romans, even in the latest days of the Western Empire. 
And, if in nothing else, the Roman and the feudal bonds of 
mutual obligation between the superior and inferior differed wholly 
in the absence of all that dignity in the former, which distinguished 
the latter compact. The feudal tenant held of his lord upon one 
main and principal condition : — martial service. He, being free, 
volimtarily contracted the obligation in exchange for his fief, and 
not for the rights of his person. The Roman patron emancipated 
his slave, made him a freedman by his will only, and in return 
exacted obligations, various, arbitrary in kind, and often sevile, — 
but never military. Nay, so uncertain were these conditions gene- 
rally, that (Cod. Just. VI. 3, 12) unless it was expressly stipulated 
that thev should be rendered to the patron's heir, they ceased with 
his deatn. So also these obligations might, or might not, have 
force upon the children of the client ; but if they had (that is, if 
they were not servile), they were binding upon all the sons of the 
freedman, simply because they were his sons, and not because of 
any inheritance. The obligations of a feudal tenant, on the con- 
trary, were due to his lord and bis lord's successors for ever ; and 
tJicy descended only, but descended immutably, upon the heir who 
succeeded to the iief which produced them. 

Upon one point, however, it is curious how much Mr. Spence 
has neglected to use the readiest and most plausible argument 
which he could have found for his object. We mean the practice 
of commendation, as it was called, which prevailed in conjunction 
with the feudal system. This was a custom, originally resorted to 
by the free cultivators under the emperors, of committing them- 
selves for protection to some man or rank, (see Cod. Theod. XI, 
tit. 34) and so far Mr. Spence has recorded it. But he has failed 
to observe that precisely the same CTistom cotiXinual in the bar- 
^s^^^^WrfggSjanalpgoua to the feud^j^^^^ ■ 



tLaujf and Political JrulUutiona of Modern Europe. 233 

troni it, as the connection ivns wholly personal. This was often 
entered into by the iveaker parly as an obiigatiou to pay a certain 
sum for the protection of alodim projperty ; and was (Du Cange — 
Sal vamen turn) a common resource of the monasteries. This prac- 
tice then, if any, of commendation was the common link between 
the clientage of the Romans and the feudal system of the Bar- 
barians. We wonder that Mr. Spence should in great part have 
orerlooked its contemporary existence with the latter system ; for 
though even this does not identify the two institutions, it wears a 
more plausible appearance of doing so than many circumstances 
on which he has insisted. 

But the arguments on which he appears principally to rely for 
the maintenance of tliis part of his position, are the weU known 
facia that the Roman soldiery in the frontier provinces received 
lands upon condition of holding themselves in constant readiness 
for the public defence, and that when they did not enjoy such pos- 
Eesdons, they were entided to quarters upon the provincials, with 
the use, for the time, of one third of the house with its furniture, 
whenever they were thus billetted. It will scarcely be believed 
thai, upon this defined and restricted right of quarters, in wliich 
the soldier was expressly forbidden ta include and demand either 
provisions or fuel, Mr. Spence rests the following deduction. ' The 
provincials were bound, whilst under the Roman dominion, to 
aftbrd hospilalily to the Roman armies when sent amongst them, 
according to fixed and determinate rules. The Goths and.Bur- 
gnndians, who performed the same office of protection from foreign 
aggressioo which the provincials had formerly experienced from the 
Roman legions, claimed a similar recompense: but instead of 
mere temporary quarters, they claimed, by right of hospitalitif, a 
proportion of the lands and slaves of the provincials to be assigned to 
themmoionerjAip.'(p'242). A most gentle demand of Atw^jiia/iii/,' 
■ But one woidd imagine that the diiference between a temporE^ry 
and barren occupation, and a perpetual ownership, should con- 
stitute a sufficient distinction in any case. 

Mr. Spence has prmcipally misled himself, as others have 
done before him, by the recollection of the military service to 
wliich Roman soldiers receiving lands were pledged. This is his 
main proof of the resemblance of the Roman and feudal tenures; 
and it may be encountered by an old and most conclusive refuta- 
tion: — that the Roman military colonists were bound to the state, 
and not to an individual lord. No two things can be more.opposite 
than the simple and citizen-like condition by which these soldiers 
were to hold their lands, and the long gradation and mutual duti^ 
of the feudal system, descending from the sovereign to the great 
feudatories, from these to their own followers, and again often from 
the latter to the lowest vassal to whom a single acre mi^x ^i^ 
. car\'ed out by the last process of sub-infeudalion. "in ^acV, "tt. ■«« 
[^l^gfBduated tenure of land ia excliauge for reiVvVM^ ^r*T«j 



» *34 The Laws and Political Inatitutiona of Modern Europe. 

which characterized the feudal system bo peculiarly, that, as it 
appears to us, no other origin can possibly with reason be assigned 
lo it, than the conditioQ in which me barbarian conquerors found 
themselves in their new states. It is easy to hod partial resem- 
blances to it not only in the practices of Koman military colonizatioa 
and clientage, but in the family ties of the Highland clans, and 
the military obhgalions of Asiatic land owners, to their chieftains: 
but however such apparent analogies from the practice of various 
countries may deceive for a time, we are convinced, with a great 
authority, that they will all vanish when they come to be closely 
examined. 

This sUght exposition of Mr. Spence's opinions on the feudid 
institutions will probably be sufficient to enable the reader to judge 
of his systematic determination to see a Roman origin in all the 
laws and customs of the barbarian nations. This disposition ap- 
pears to us to have occasioned the only errors and defects in his 
book ; and it ccrtaiiJy has led him into some wrong impresi^oDs 
and inconsistencies. Thus (p. 216) he broadly declares that the 
institutions of the Germans, aa handed doRTi to us by Tacitus, 
exhibit little that is peculiar, and differ in but a trifling degree 
from those of all rude nations. This opinion he may have deemed - 
sufficient to cuide ua to the conclusion that there was no particular 
reason why tncy should not readUy receive the impression of their 
future character from the more civilized people whom they sob- 
dued. But when Mr. Spence made this sweeping assertion, did ' 
he remember the high consideration enjoyed by woman anung ^ 
those nations ? — a condition totally distinct from the characteristic _ 
of all other savage nations in tms respect. Here tlie GermaSB ^ 
differed totally and clearly in feeling and action from the peo[^ 
among whom they came ; and the result is most remarkable in io ^ 
connection with our author's subject, though he has totally neglected 
it. If the Barbarians (as in deference to the classical nomenclature 
we are content to call them) had adopted the Roman maimers and 
customs, and among them naturally the Roman estimate of ths _ 

Elace of woman in society, what contradictory process could ever 
ave raised her into the idol of chivalry, or given birth to the cht ^ 
valric spirit itself? ~ 

Sometimes our author's rigid regard for truth and accuiBoy, ^ 
leads him into confessions very inconvenient for his theory: as 
when he remarks (p. 311) that 'all the nations, excepting the 
Goths, allowed the Romans, if such was their wish, to live under ^ 
the Roman law.' We know that they did so ; and moreover thai ^ 
this permission, in France especially, perpetuated for many centuries " 
the distinction between the Gaul or Roman and the Frank, Bill ^ 
how does an opposition of the Roman and barbarian codes so 
decided as to preserve this long separation of the two races, accord 
ivith Mr. Spence's doctrine, t\ia,\. \.\ie "BmWyvmis ^dn^led the 
^man jurhpradence and poMcaWnsliw^iOTB'* ■ ■ 



Cartwrighfs Idfe and Corre^ondence. 235 

To several such instances of contradiction as this we might 
point; and we might also direct attention to a few slight misap- 
prehensions of other kinds which we have noticed. Such are the 
authcnr's repetition (p. 280) of the error of Robertson and some 
previous writers, that feudal benefices were originally revocable at 
will; and his assertion (p. 541), after Blackstone and Gibbon, that 
the revival of the civil law as a study originated with the discovery 
of a complete copy of the Pandects at Amalfi : whereas it is certain 
that Imerius, a German by birth, but bred at Constantinople, read 
lectm-es on the Pandects at Bologna several years earlier. These 
little inaccuracies, however, are but as a feather in the scale against 
the general preponderance and real value of Mr. Spence's learning 
and industry : nor, to say the truth, are we disposed to attach, any 
very injurious effects even to the fanciful tendency of opinion on 
which we have conmiented. It does not in any degree interfere 
widi the highest merit to which such a work as this of Mr. Spence's 
may aspire, and which his volume certainly possesses: — ^that of 
offering admirable digests, both of the Soman, and of the various 
barbanan, codes and institutions, civil and political. 



Art. II. The lAfe and Correspondence of Major Cartwright. Edited 
by hid Niece, F. D. Cartwright. 2 Vols. 8vo. 1/. 8^. London. Col- 
Irani. 1826. 

This is upon the whole an entertaining and rather a curious piece 
of biography. Not that the interest of the work is by any means 
of that kmd which it was probably designed to convey : for in the 
(pinion of all di^assionate men, the political career and the Utopian 
news of M^yor Cartwright will be very far from possessing the dig- 
nity, and importance ascribed to them, either by the extravagant 
zed of his associates, or the natural partiality of ms family- As the 
indefatigable champion of ^^ radical reform," his name will be re- 
membered only in conection with all the wild and impracticable 
schemes which have agitated the country during the last half cen- 
tpry; and, regarding nim as a public character, even the unques- 
tionable integrity of his motives will scarcely be held to compensate 
for his total want of sound judgment. That he was unwearied in 
his pursuits during a long life, is an evidence of his consistency 
;h not of his wisdom: no argument could shake him, no 
ig lessons of experience undeceive him; and whether his 
;y was strengthened by failure or his long devotion to a 
darling and exclusive project had disordered his imagination, his 
conduct equally bore all the marks of an inveterate mental delusion. 
That his intentions were honest, we have not the shadow of a 
doubt ; but in the same proportion that he was Yim^^ ^aie^T^^Xi^ 
Uind prejudices rendered him a ready dupe and t\xe i^c^<^ VosXxw* 
ment of more able and designing men. 




Cartwrighl't lafe and Correspondeaci. 

That Major Cartwrighi'* [wiidcal creed was comprised hi theL 
" x;triae of annual parliaments and uuiversal suffrage, not niifflj otL 
ir readers can need to be reminded ; and still fewer will require Bi^L 
»f of the utter and palpable unfitness of such a system fia tt^L 
_ _sent composition of our civil society. But the radieal refwmeliL 
lave sometimes confidently appealed to the Saxon origin of IBL 
Iritish constitution, and sometimes to the natural rights of 108% L 
9 warrant their speculations. The first plea is now almost aba^ L 
' med, and that it should ever liave been advanced proved onlym C 
09t ridicidous ignorance of our constitutional history. No one . 
Irliose opinion is of the least weight now imagines that a represeo- „ 
lative system existed at all among our Saxon ancestors, and as a , 
"mng writer, distinguished equally for his elegant learning and hfa ^ 
incere love of liberty, has pithily remarked, " scarce a demagogue ^ 
t longer heard to chatter about the witlenM;emot." Still less is it _ 
fisible to maintain that the freedom nobly asserted by oih fwt- _ 
there at later periods, and triumphantly won by their exertiaB ~ 
[om the haughty Plantagenet princes, was compounded of such elfr _ 
vents as the partisans of " radical reform" would require. _ 

- Their second plea combined a far more vigorous and plau^ble _ 
ju-gument : the natural rights of man are inherent and indetermin- 
ttble, neither to be limited by the evidence of antiquarian usage, . 
|Bor rendered obsolete by the usurpations and despotism of centuries. ^ 
put in what do these rights consist ? In all thai, and in no more 
Lu, is expedient for the good of society. That universal sufiriige ^ 
„i annual parliaments are expedient for the British empire isa " 
reposition so absurd and monstrous, that we are thoroughly ami 
ilmly convinced no man of education, of experience, and of rp- 
action, who is in his right senses, can possibly entertain it witk 
incerity. That a temperate reform in parUament is heartily to be *^ 
esired, we shall always hold ; and we should hail with eager salif- 
tction the secure enactment of any really effectual measures fiif ~ 
mproving the purity of election, and the equality of representation, 
T destroying the overbearing influence of great families, and for _ 
Jortening the excessive durarion of parliaments. 

But radical reform means none of these things : it is based neither 
'pon the true principles of the constitution, nor the true happines 
F the people ; it has invariably been brought forward to heal anj 
jflame the populace at every recurrence ot public distress, and at 
Wery season of danger domestic or foreign ; and its promoters hare 
tvidently upon all occasions sought to aggravate the irritation of ^ 
' E public mind as the readiest means of promoting their object 
—^-ie sure quality of iia fruits ia to be foretold from the nature of tlie 
^soil in which the seeds have thus been found to flourish. The pritt- * 
■ ciples of radical reform are those of the wildest democracy ; and 
iheJr results, if ever put into practice, would ser\*e only to faini)i«r- . 
Jze us with ibe blesaa^ of mub g^Meimoeux., aii4 \!a£. '^NteiJf qC^ ^ 
popular rcvohtioa. 



Carhorights lAfe and Correspondence. 23? 

Considering these volumes, then, merely as political biography, 
there would be little pleasing attraction in the Ufe of a man ^nose 
impotent efforts were directed to shake the constitution, and even 
to subvert the foundations of the state ; in the vain and presump- 
tuous confidence of his own skill to renovate and to improve. The 
political curiosity of the book is not however in relation to Major 
Cartwright himself. The reader will care little for the mere pro- 
gress of the enthusiast's political career; but he will find the vo- 
mmes filled with a good deal of matter that is really interesting in 
its connection with other public characters of far more celebrity 
and consequence. Thus we have a regular view of the share taken 
at different periods by Lords Shelbume and Rockin^am, the Dukes 
of Portland and Richmond, Mr. Pitt, and Mr. Fox — ^by all the 
succe^ve leaders, in short, of the ministry and opposition between 
the close of the American and the climax of the French revolu- 
tions — in advocating the cause of Parliamentary reform. Thus, 
also, there is introduced and interwoven in the narrative a mass of 
CCnrespondence, some part of which at least is amusing and remark- 
able. We have letters from Fox and Burke, the Duke of Portland 
and Lord Shelbume, the late eccentric Earl Stanhope, Mr. Whit- 
faread. Sir Philip Francis, Home Tooke, Granville Sharp, Dr. 
Parr, Mr. Jefferson, formerly president of the United States, and 
John Quincy Adams, who now holds that dignity. 

Biit to our minds Uie interest of these volumes lies not nearly so 
much eith^ in their political matter, nor even in thdr literary 
cariosities^, as in a much more simple attraction — their character as 
a piece of private biography and striking delineation of individual 
peculiaiities. Li these respects the work forms what a painter 
would call an admirable study of human nature. It is the pro- 
Suction of Major Cartwright's niece and adopted daughter, who 
Hved under his roof from early infancy, who knew the man tho- 
reughly, and appears to have borne to him all the affection of a 
<ih£[. She has nad access to all his papers, she possesses a full 
fiunily acquaintance with the whole current of his life, and he 
Mems to have designed her himself for the ofhce which she has 
undertaken. 

It has certainly been performed under feelings of respect to his 
memoiy which do her honour, and with apparently a rigid atten- 
tion to truth. Thus, she has naturally imbibed all the political 
prejudices of her hero, and she is at no trouble to witlmold or 
temper them. She has written under the same delusion in which 
he hved, and she views his whole life as a glorious and well-directed 
sacrifice to patriotism. She implicitly believes in the uprightness 
of his intentions, and cannot endure a doubt of their wisdom. 
But beyond this her book is a plain, simple, and modest composi^ 
tion ; without pretension and without violence ; composed in love 
abd sincerity ; seeing nothing to be ashamed of — noxbiu^ \\vdX ^^ 
may Aedre to conceal; and consequently giving us a ^\)&v^^\X) ^x^^ 



L)38 



Cartwritjht's Life and CorrespoTidence. 



inute picture of the man, with no more than the colouring wfil 
i virtues wore in her eyes. There is occordingly an integril 
Evnrpose in the book which is not to be mistaken, and not t 
I'feand in biography; and it discloses, nithout reserve, eve 
which is characteristic of ita Ribject, We shall proceed i 
t. off from its pages such an outline sketch of the life and ecc 
^cities of the reformer as our limits will suffer. 

- John Cartwright was bora at Mamham, in Nottinghamshi 
Ihe year 1740, and was descended from one of the oldest faj 
ta that county. He was a younger son of a gentleman off 
fortune, who had served as high sheriff, and who, it is cui ' 
was distinguished in the public affairs of his coi 
: busy and speculative spirit which was afterwards i 
.,Ted in the subject of the memoir before us. The major ' 
krlv declared of his father, that he had a genius for enconi 
'tncidties ;' and he himself had certainly inherited the s 
msity, togellier with two of his brothers, iu no commeui (j 
Ine of them, after sening in Germany as aide-de-camp jL 
[ Marquis of Granby in the seven years' war, went out to LaH 
1 an agriculliu-al scheme, and passed many years in unfbrd 

leculations in that sterile region. Another, Dr. Edmund i 

■right, the inventor of the power-loom, was an ingenious and in- 
Hefatigable projector in mechanics ; and John himself was fated - 
Tb consume his whole life in equally restless and more unprofitable 
iKhemes of imaginary improvement. In short, the ' genius liB ■ 
icountering difficulties' would appear to have been quite a family . 
haracteristic in the whole race or the Cartvfrights. 
From whatever cause, the early education of the future chani- 
' reform was extremely defective. He learned noihing , 
■ his tutors, and all that he afterwards acquired was the fruit , 
r his own unassisted exertions. He was completely a self-tau^ . 
baa ; but the amount of his literary knowledge seems to haW ^ 
Ken never worth mention. His niece has pleased herself, rathw _ 
lancifiilly, in tracing the subsequent bias of his mind to some ^ 
early impressions which he might have received from passing hi ^ 
school vacations under the roof of Lord Tyrconnel — Savagcfb _ 
Tvrconnel — his maternal uncle, ' That nobleman was a Whig 
of the old school, and his godson used to relate many amusing anec- _ 
dotes of his political zeal : among others, that when divine service ^ 
was performing in the chapel at Belton, the old lord was observed 
to be greatly agitated during the reading of the prayer for die ; 
parliament, stirring the fire violently, and muttering im^deolJ; , 
to himself, " Notliing but a miracle can mend them." ' The fits' - 
decided bias of young Cart\vright, however, was shown in afl ^ 
opposite direction. It was intended' to train him to agricultsnl 4 
pursuits, that he might assist in the management of the famHy . 
estate: but he was bent on more adventurous occupation. Atdie 
&«/^tted^^MCTenteen' years be tan a.^a.-^^To.^^i 



Ckurimrijfkfs Life and Corteip^md^mce. 239 

of boyish enthusiasm, with the intention of joining the Prussian 
army under the great Frederick as a volunteer ; but was persuaded 
to return, on learning from the steward, who had overtaken him, 
the distress and alarm into which this rash step had plunged his 
funily. His wish to embrace an active life was then complied 
with, and he soon after entered the naval service of his own 
€CHmtiy. 

For this profession, which he eageriy embraced, he soon con- 
ceived a strong and lasting attachment, and he followed it for 
many years wim zeal and steadiness. In several occurrences he is 
recorded to have displayed the qualities of resolution and courage, 
which indeed sufficiendy marked his whole life. In 1759 he was 
piesent in a Une-of-batde ship at Sir Edward Hawke's victory 
in Quiberon Bay, where thirteen of twenty-six men whom he 
commanded were killed by his side, and he escaped with a slight 
splinter wound. Upon another occasion he fearlessly leaped from 
the qoarter-deck of a seventy-four-gun ship, to save the life of a 
brother officer. He afterwards, as Ueutenant, conmianded a smaH 
vessel of war, and was subsequendy employed for a considerable 
time in Newfoundland ; until in 1770 he was compelled to return 
to his £unily for the benefit of his health, which had been im- 
paired during his services. From this period he never resumed the 
dudes of his profession. 

It was apparendy during this first season of leisure that his 
attention was directed to poUtical reform, and his mind soon be- 
came heated and engrossed in these and similar projects for the 
pubUc weal, at the expense of his own. His fijrst essays were 
^' On the Rights and Interests of Fishing Companies," and a 
" Flan for the perpetual supply of British Oak for the Navy ;" 
and he employed himself at intervals, for nearly ten years, with 
duuracteristic perseverance, and . at much cost and trouble, in 
dancing attendance upon Ministers to effect the adoption of this 
fiivonrite prefect* Meanwhile he accepted the majority of the 
Nottinghamshire miUtia, and displayed his usual zeal in the organ- 
ization and training of the regiment, while his superior field-officers 
were content to leave to him the command and the trouble. It was 
from this miUtary appointment that he became ever after, known 
as Major Cartwright, even when his political opinions had lost him 
his commission. As trifles bespeak character, it is amusing to re- 
cord the importance which he attached to the adoption of a design 
for the colours and buttons of his regiment, on wnich the cap of 
hberty figured among the prominent insignia. 

The breaking out of the disputes wim the American colonies 
now whetted his zeal for pohtical controversy; and in 1774 he 
pabUshed his Letters on American Independence. The opening 
of the American war soon brought his principles into conflict vdl^ 
his jHofesBional inclinatzon;? and interests ; and it \s tclosX. Ylot^sskss.- 
aUe tobbmt^riljf that he cheerfully sacrificed \k>\\i X\\e \dXX.et> 



1 






^^^ was : 



K^O Cartwriglil's Lif* and Correspondence. 

nthoul a moment'B hesitation, to what be coMidered as 
f coascience. He was still enthusiastically attached to the naval j 
; the prosecution of which hia state of health liad alone ' 
bterrupted. Yet when Lord Howe, his old captain, and now 
laval commander-in-chief in America, whose regard he had won, 
tfered him an appointment in his own flag-ship, and the certiuniy 
" ;arly promotion, he at once declined the proposal. A simple pas- 
e from one of his letters at this epoch is worth extracting, 

" That in itself is a very strong temptation, but when I consider it 

of remoTiag all obstacles to the final possession of my la- 

itim able friend, how shall I express its value T I would purchase it at 

ly price short of iategritf. Passionately attached to the navy — mj 

great ambition to serve with him, whom 1 consider the first officer in tlie 

world — my pride to receive promotion, unsolieited, at such hands — my 

supreme happiness to make her whom I love my own — it is indeed a 

sacrifico — great ought indeed to be the satisfaction wliich honour, Ibat 

rigid dictator, may have in store. 

' " I meaa to see Lord Howe to-morrow morning ; but as my mind a 
fnll to suffer me to explain myself properly and without embarrass- 
it, I believe I must do it in uTiting, and prepare a letter lo leave wilh 
him. I would not wish that there should be a possibility of bis attribot- | 
my conduct to wrong motives ; and liow to touch upon tbe true oues, ■ 
case coosidered, is the grand difficulty. ■ 

"I must about it, however." ' — Vol. i. p. 73. 
His letter to Lord Howe, after expressing his continued attach- 
lent to his profession, and his ardent wish in serve mider his lord- 
command, contained a plain and manly exposition of his 
IS for declining so flattering an offer, — ' that thinking as he 
did on the most tmhappy contest between this kingdom and her 
colonies, it would be a desertion Ironi his principles, were he to put 
himself in a situation that might probably cause him to act a 
hostile part against them.' in answer to the entreaties of his 
American friends, on the other hand, to enter the service of the 
United States, he replied, ' that though he would never consent to 
bear arms against tlie liberties of America, he considered that 
nothing could absolve a man from the duty he owed his own 
country, and that he would stick by the old ship as long as there 
was a plank of her above water.' 

From this time, his prospects in the navy being at an end, he 
shed headlong into the vortex of politics, and first appeared m 
TOe advocate of parUamenlary reform by a pamphlet in 1776,— 
'the earliest it is believed,' says his niece, ' ever expressly published 
on that subject, except some tracts by the late Earl Stanhope.' In 
this pamphlet, he broached those doctrines of ' equal representation 
as a right, and annual elections as a security for the preservation 
of that right,' to wliich he adhered to his latest hour. We have, 
however, do inclination to trace the course of extravagance by 
ifJiieii be- laboured for nearly iiity yesnto ^^owar ^b& ^wcnati i 



Gariwright'S Life and Corre9pondence. 341 

. ... - . ■ 

schemes of reform, nor to follow his biographer through the mass 

of mingled coirespondence and narrative on this fruitftd theme, 

which tediously occupies by far the greater portion of her volumes. 

The only interesting points in the long residue of his Ufe are such 

as mark the characteristic activity and resdessness of his mind' in. 

other respects, even while he was harassing himself in the pursuit 

of bis -master passion with an intensity of enthusiam of which 

there are perhaps few other examples, even among the most ardent 

politicians. 

The list of his works contains eighty pieces, and the subjects of 
thesfe were by no means confined to political reform. Besides his 
timber scheme, which continued to engage his eager attention,. 
* the energy of his .character, and his ardour in serving his coun- 
Xrsy as his niece observes, or, in other words, his indefatigable 
qpirit of- projectiHg, appeared in various instances. During the 
mHeneair war he di«cw up an elaborate plan for the defence of 
Portsmouth dock-yard; and in the same year (•1779) he was em^- 
ployed in forming a plan for naval surveying, * calculated to ascer- 
tain, with tolerable precision, the different movements of a fleet 
during action.' It is here published in the appendix, and we ^raff 
(miy observe of it, that it appears to be sdtogether chimerical and 
impracticable in the heat of engagement. His next project (in 
1781) was a rfan for raising the Royal George at Spithcad, which, 
like all his other schemes, was not adopted. He was never, how- 
ever, daunted by failure ; but, for the next twenty years, private 
speculations in agriculture and manufactures diverted and engrossed 
dl the time and thought which he could spare from politics. In 
1800 he again appeared on the stage with a plan for ' a temple of 
naval cdebration,' which really seems to have possessed some merit, 
since the late Mr. West, the President of the Royal Academy, 
Irighly admired the design ; and Lord Nelson was so delighted with 
it,*that hie declared "it should be placed so in sight of the Thames 
that ev^ery seaman saiUng from or returning to the metropolis might 
be r^nlindM of his country's gl6ry." In endeavouring to recom- 
mend this plan, he spared no personal trouble or fatigue : he pub- 
lished a work called the ' Trident,' to explain his design ; and he 
spent above five hundred pounds in bringing it before the pubUc. 
Yet, though this plan was not adopted, he persevered through many 
years of fruitless toil before he could be induced to abandon it. 

In the fervour of this project, his resdess spirit was still not suf- 
ficiently occupied. He renewed his scheme for a supply of British 
oak for the navy, and endeavoured to induce Mr. Addington's ad- 
ministration to adopt it; he published plans of defence against the 
French invasion ; he projected models for flying draw-bridees, pikes, 
and such warlike appurtenances ; and he doubtless fdft all the 
conscientious happiness of a man who imagines that his labours 
are of the highest importance to the public good. \>\xi«i^\5ae,\^^\* 
twenty years of bk life, his inventive tho\ig\i*uoV\v»- y^^^^ 

VOL, II, ' YL 



242 Carlwright's lAfe and Correspondence. T 

ardour was pcrliaps graduallj cooling, and v/e find him engaged fa 
only one more project ; and this, in concert with one of ms bio- 
there, was " for malting any boat answer the purpose of a life-boat" 
And this, too, failed ! 

If all these schemes, together with thoiie for political reform, bad 
been the work of a man otherwise idle, they would have been in 
themselves proofs of surprising activity of mmd ; but they become 
the more remarkable as characteristics, when we learn that ^ 
major was the principal counsellor and, as it were, sole ageit iot 
the affairs of Lis whole family. Such was the general opinioii 
among them of his disinterestedness and abiUty, that when his 
father died in the year 1781, leaving his estates much encumbered 
by the consequences of numerous. speculations, he was requested 
to imdertake the management of the family affairs. His elder 
brother, the heir to the principal estate at Mamhain, had been 
unfortunate in hfa Labrador speculations, and was so much em- 
barrassed in his own circumstances that he gladly resigned the 
direction of the family concerns. The major had shortly before 
fijnned an union with a lady, to whom he declared that he was 
indebted for the chief happiness of his subsequent lite j and he 
now, by the general desire ot his relatives, having borrowed a large 
sum of money, became the purchaser of the paternal estate at 
Maniham, and applied himself with unremitting zeal to the 
arrangement of the complicated affairs which his father had left. 

Here he resided for several years, earnestly engaged in agricul- 
tural pursuits, though it may be suspected that his constant inter- 
ference in political business, and his consequent absences in Lon- 
don, were not very favourable to his private interests. Moreover, 
he was stiU Iiaunied by the family demon of speculation, and in 
1788 he engaged himself, and also many of his friends, in a plan 
for the erection of a large woollen manufactory, which proved mosl 
imfortunate, and invoucd him and them in heavy losses. He 
appears to have been much affected by the embarrassments which 
he had entailed by this scheme upon his friends, much more 
keenly thau by his own mislbrtimes ; and thenceforth he eamesily 
foreswore all pccimiary adventures of the kind. He soon after 
removed to an estate which he had bought in Lincolnshire, and 
employed himself so successfully in the culture of woad for tie 
dyers, that for sixteen years he derived great profit from the con- 
cern, and drew honourable mention of Tiis skCl, says his niece, 
from Arthur Yoimg, in the agricultural works of that writer. 

The profits of this estate, we are told, alone enabled him to 
stand against the overwhelming dilBculties in which a variety of 
circiunstanccs, counected with other persons, at different times 
involved him. But though not affluent, he seems never to have 
been in pecuniary distress ; and though his circumstances were 
apparently much reduced in his latter years, he had still a respect- 
ao/e competeace. It wa^, ^eiha{Ki, {uiuuu\:>£. \!aa,v \)& ^ao. aa 



CarlwrigMs Lifi and Corrnpondencg. i43 

children to suffer by his patriotism ; for in 1805, ' his increasing 
interest in public affairs having rendered agricultural concerns irk- 
some to him/ he let his Lincolnshire estate, and removed first to 
Enfield, near London ; and then, some years later, being attracted 
still nearer to the gulph of politics, solely by the evil mscination 
which he found in the subject, he came to reside in the metropolis 
itself. 

Here his political occupations were incessant and most laborious ; 
though they assume a strong colouring of the ridiculous, when y^e 
consider the thorough futinty and the abortive results of all his 
efforts in what he deemed the great cause of radical reform. Even 
as he approached the rare goal of fourscore years, the fire of his 
zeal was in no degree burnt out : he had nearly attained that ad- 
vanced age when ne made his strange and imprudent tours through 
the country as the *^ itinerant apostle of reform ;" and he had entered 
his eightieth year before he was brought to trial for the absurd 
scheme of returning Sir Charles Wolseley to parliament as " legis- 
latorial attorney" tor the unrepresented populace of Birmingham. 
Though neither failure, nor pecuniary loss, nor ridicule, could 
quench his political zeal, he seems to have finally discovered in his 
last years, tnat he was only used by more cunning and selfish poli- 
ticians, as a cloak to cover their designs, and to stand the pitiless 
pelting of every political tempest ; for he vented a bitter complaint 
at the Westminster election of 1818, that he was * unceremoni- 
ously dropped and cast off as a worn out garment, to clear the way 
for younger and untried reformists.' His activity, bodily and 
mental, continued, however, unabated in his favourite career 
until vrithin the last month of his existence ; and he died tran- 
quilly in September, 1824, wanting only five days to the comple- 
tion of his eighty-fourth year. His amiable pattner, who must 
have enjoyed a longevity as extraordinary as nis own, and with 
whom he had passed forty-four years of domestic harmony, was 
doomed to survive him ; but he left no family. 

The affectionate manner in which his adopted daughter has 
executed her tribute to his memoiy, has amply discharged her 
debtof filial gratitude. It is impossible, after reading her statement, 
to doubt for a moment that Major Cartwright was m domestic Ufe 
a thoroughly amiable and exceUent man. warmly beloved by hi& 
little fjBunily-circle, and highly respected by his numerous friends. 
It is even something redounding to the honour of his disposition, 
to hear of servants living in his household thirty-five and twenty 
years ; but the devoted and fervent attachment which is borne to 
nun by the writer of these memoirs, and which breaks out in 
evory page in language too simple and touching to be feigned, is 
a much higher «ilogy of his character. He was undoubtedly a 
person of sincerity, piety, and Christian spirit. Ixi\»&m\s5t^c5>aasfc 
with the wqtM^ and especially in public affairs, m^Xakexv «cA ^^*- 
Jaded m judgment we must ever hold torn to \>e •, \>\x>l \»a Vi\\e^^^ 



244 Carlwriffht's Lifs and Correspondence. 

was assuredly of the sternal class, and most perfectly incomiplil 
and uncomproinisiDg. Of tliis there nre many instancea scatlei 
through his life, besides that which we have a(iduced of his rgi 
tion of Lord Howe's offer. Of the consistency with which he 
carried his rigid principles of public viitac into private life, we 
ihall select two sufficient examples in the words of his niece. 

■ Two anecdotes which shall be relutcd iu this place, apply to very dif- 
ferout periods in the hfc of Major (Jarlwriglit ; one having occurred [irior 
to the American war, and the other siihseqneutly to the time now under 
cODsiderattoii : but as they arc tlluslrative of his strict and almost rigid 
ecrapuiousness in pecnniary affairs, they sbnll be here inserted. Many 
others might be adduced, bat as these have already appeared iu print, it 
is conceived that no confidence is violated by thus confirming their cor- 
rectness. 

' The first of them is related in the work called " Public Cbaracters 
for 1799," and was supplied by an intimate friend, who was well ac 
ijuaiuted with the drcumstauces of his private life. 

' Major Cartwright happening one evening to call on an American 
gentleman coDDCCted with the principal leaders of the American cause, 
observed a person whose dress showed him to be just arrived on horse- 
back, and who, after whispering a few words to his friend, retired. 

' After a little eonversatiou the American became absorbed iu thought, 
and Major Cartwright, judging his visit unseasonable, was about to leave 
the room. His friend stopped him, and again attempted to converse witb 
him, but he soon sank into silence and abstraction. After many attempts 
to bo allowed to retire, his friend again stopped him with symptoms of 
earnestness ; at length the visitor was forcing himself away, when his 
friend stepped between him and the door, and in a few seconds, (urning 
round in agitation, lie said " I am going to show the confidence I place 
in you. France has just signed a treaty with my country — the man you 
saw has brought me the intelligence express from Paris ; and as be came 
some hours before the English ambassador was informed of the feet, 
ministers will probably remain in ignorance of the circumstance all to- 
morrow." He then gavo an outline of the treaty, iii which the certainty 
of a war with France was the most striking feature. 

' In giving him this information. Major Cartwright had reason to sup- 
pose that his friend purposely afforded him an opportunity of making aa 
advantageous speculafioa in "Chaoge AHey, and the writer well remem- 
bers the answer which he once gave to a gentleman who frankly told him 
he was hardly justiliable in. permitting such an occasion to escape him. 
" In all transactions," said he, " between man and man, there sftonld be 
eijuality of information. If 1 am in possession of a secret which another 
has no possible means of obtaining, wc are not on equal terms, and every 
advantage I gaiu in consequence of snch a. secret is, in my opinion, a 
fraudulent transaction." 

' The second anecdote appeared in 1 820, to the surprise of hia. family, 
to whom he had never mentioned the subject. It was related by Mr. 
Godfrey Higgins in a letter addressed to the House of Commons, and was 
as follows: — 

'"leauBot refrain from doing an act oi iaatica Vo fta.^ maa\>. <h»»t. 



OarHorighfs IAf$ and Corre^ndence^ HAS 

und defamed gentleman, Major Cartwrigbt. Some years ago he was 
bound in many thousand pounds for a l^riend who was unfortunate in 
trade. My father being interested, through the medium of a banker, 
who had also failed, and wanted a considerable part of it, I was sent' to 
London at the time Sir James Sanderson, who was, I believe, also inter- 
ested, was mayor, to enquire about it. I called on the major, and upon 
telling him the object of my visit, looking at me very stedfastly, he said, 
' Sir, I am instructed by my law adviser that the transaction betwixt my 
friend and the banker, for whom you want this money, was usurious, and 
that I am not bound by law to pay a single farthing of it.' I dare say 
I looked rather uncomfortable, because my law adviser had instructed me 
precisely to the same effect ; but after a moment's pause he added, ' I 
was honestly bouod for my friend, and 1 shall liouestly pay the money ; I 
only ask time, to sell part of my estate to raise it, till when 1 will pay 
you five per cent' The estate was sold, and the money paid before the 
year's end. I cannot believe that this gentleman wants a revolution, that 
he may profit by a scramble for the property of the rich." ' 

* The members of his own family, as has been already noticed, being 
ignorant of this transaction till an extract from Mr. Higgins's letter ap* 
peiired in a newspaper,- he was asked whether it was correctly stated, and 
replied, that '* such a circumstance did certainly occur." ' — ^Vol. I. pp. 1 73 
—177. 

Having thought the peculiar fortunes and eccentric character 
of Major Cartwright worth so much of our attention, we have the 
less space to ^ord to that part of the correspondence in these 
volumes which has any curiosity. For, as to the letters upon 
radical reform, which are heaped upon the reader by the score, 
and often almost without intermission or variety, we have our- 
selves encountered their dullness, tisque ad nauseam, with too much 
impatience to desire to repeat the infliction upon others. But a 
few of the letters are of a different cast, and ri^markable for the 
celebrity of their writers as well as for their matter. Such is the 
following amusing epistle from Home Tooke. 

" ' TO JOrof CARTWRIGHT, ESQ. 

- * *' My dear friend,— -I went to town last Friday, on purpose that I 
might, after so long a delay, deliver the little parcel for you, with my 
own hands, to the Boston coachman. I was half an hour too late ; my 
usual misfortune, which truth would call fatdt. However, I left it with 
a trusty tradesman in Fleet-street, who promised that it should be care- 
felly sent by last Monday's coach. That I might tell you this by last 
Saturday's post, I got a frank ready : the old misfortune recurred ; again 
too late. 

' ".With this frank I will not be too late. 
. ' ** The parcel contains two honeysuckle roots, laid down purposely for 
you, of the standard evergreen honeysuckle : some white and red straw- 
berries, and many sorts of large gooseberries, which I had from Man- 
chester, where they are very curious in that fruit. 

* **I have two sorts of strawberry, which those who ^ave t\\^m ^<i xa,^ 
represent as yfery extraordiuary. If they prove so, '^ow ^Xvci^ T^texX. ^^^^'t 
h^ve aome. - lam promised by difierept peraouH (^^om^ ol vjVwxv*^^^ 



) on ] 

IVCT ' 



246 Cartioriyht't Life and Correspondence. 

myself, will probably be always loo late) many very carious plante tnd 
flowers. Whea next I sec you, yoD &hal] tell me whether aoy of them will 
suit you. 

' " Whilst we arc cultivatiog our gardens, the Viclualling-o^CK, of 
whose exports the Custom House takes no note, is sending graiu uid 
cattle out of the country, much beyond all actual, or, jirobabty, possiUl 
importation. Thirty thousand oxen in the course of a few weeks pasti 
But Mr. Pitt holds hima jacobin, who ought to be impaled, who suggest! 
that the war may possibly be some cause of the scarcity. I tbinic I miy, 
perhaps, be able to send you some authenticated facts concermng that 
terrible office, which is starviug the miserable iababitants of this land. 
Vou will be better pleased with these roots of bitlerneea than with the 
paltry roots 1 have aeot you. I believe the lawyers would say that 
this letter contains a libel ; perhaps they would call it treason ; but 1 
ehould have no objection to be tried and convicted, provided they wonlil 
permit me, on such trial, to bring to light, by evidence, the operationaot 
this despotic war, 

' "Till the proper time arrives, when truth may be useful, let us go on 
cultivating our gardens. "" 

' "Wimbledon, December 12, 1800. ' " J. hornb tookb. 

Vol. i. 260—62. 

The following letter from Sir William Jones, though in a graver 
strain, is not less interesting and characteristic. 

' " Dear Sir, • "23d May, 1783. 

' " Although our acquaintance, which the similarity of our political 
sentiments will, 1 trust, improve nnd ripen into fricndsliip, be of recent 
date, yet I have such an opinion of your candour, that I am sure you will 
take in good part the freedom of my sfriclures on your excellent paper, 
which ought to be written on the heart of every Englishman : at the 
same time, I persuade myself that you believe me incapable of any tech- 
nical narrowness and forensic sophistry ; for though I have boon some- 
what conversant with the minute practice of the courts, yet I have some- 
times risen to the high principles of rational jurisprudence. You must 
pardon me, therefore, if, in speaking of public rights, 1 distinguish be 
tween such as arc just and natural, and such as are legal or coustitu> 
tional ; and in speaking of the constitution, between the form and the 
spirit of il ; since many laws which bind the opinion of a jurist, are un- 
natural or uu cons titn tional ; and while the principles of the coustitnUon 
direct the legislature, either elected or electing, the established forms of 
It must guide the lawyer. I cannot, then, help distinguishing between 
those opinions which I may give as a jiiris-consnlt, and those which I 
may advance as a sharer in the legislation of my country, and a calm 
reasoner on the rights of my species. Had I, for example, been asked, 
whether customary freeholders or copyholders, by the custom of the ma- 
nor, but not at tbc will of the lord, were qualified to vote, as freeliolders, 
in county elections * I must, as a lawyer, have answered, that they cer- 
tainly had no such legal right ; but, had 1 been in Parliament in the 31st 
of George U., I should have thought, as a legislator, tliat copyholders 
Jiad a natarai rigbt, supported by tbe B^niit t^ wu u»abX»LMuni.-, *£MsdA 



Cariwrighfs Life cmd Correspondence. 347 

liaTe despised the gabble of the feudal lawyers ; and should, consequentlj, 
both tisTe arg«ed and voted against the act by which all teoantsr, by copy 
of eourt-roU, were declared incapable of polling for knights of the shire. 
WitB this preface, I submit to your better judgment the hasty notes 
which I hare scribbled on the sheet iu^closed ; and I entreat yon to b<^ieve 
that T am, with sincere respect, 

' " Dear sir, 
' " Your very faithful and obedient servant, 

' •• WILLIAM JONES.*' ' 

' ^' P. S. It is my deliberate (though private) opinion, that the people 
^ England wiU never be a people^ in the majestic sense of the word, un- 
less two hundred thousand of the civil state be ready, before the first of 
next November, to take the field, without rashness or disorder, at twenty- 
four houFs' notice*" * — Vol i. pp. 150 — 152. 

The last letter which we shall copy is from Sir Philip Francis, 
the impatient bi^vity and pithy spleen of which sufficiently accord 
with the temper of one of the reputed authors of Junius. 

' " TO J. CARTWRIOHT, ESQ. 

• " Dear Sir, ' *' 2d of April, 181K 

* " My resolution on the subject of your kind letter received yesterday, 
was founded on experience, and taken with deliberation. I cannot alter 
it. Yon are the only person to whom it would be unbecoming in me to 
say, that I am not young enough to embark again in what I believe to be 
a hopeless enterprise. I doubt the actual existence of an English public 
for any great national purpose ; and, if it exists, I am not its debtor. As 
far as I can judge, the mass of the English population is inert. Tlui 
country has lost its passions, and is not fit for action. This general opi* 
aioD is open to exceptions, and you are one of them. 

* " I have the honour to be, with sincere esteem, 

' " Dear sir, 
* " Your most obedient humble servant, 

' " p. FRANCIS." * 

Vol. ii. p. 4. 

Besides the letters which we have here transcribed there is one 
from Mr. Jefferson, fVom which we reeret that its length prevents 
ds from extracting any part. It is cunous on many accounts, and 
very characteristic of tne writer ; and it concludes quite in the 
style of the eccentric philosopher of Monticello, with the quaint 
remaik, "that Major Cartwright's age of eighty-four years, and 
kisown of eighty-one, must ensure them a dpeedy meeting. 



Art, hi. 1, Free Trade; or an Jin/uiry into the arpediemc]/ of Ihf prt- 
sent Corn Laws ,- the Relations of our Foreign and Colonial Tradf ; 
the AiivaiUagps of our Namgatian System ; the propriety of prevent- 
ing Combinaiiona among Workmen; and the Circwastancea tobick oc- 
casioji a Derangement of the Currency: comprising a general Invqsti- 
gallon of the Alterations lately adopted, and still further inediuied, 
in the Commercial Policy of the Country. By Alexander M'DonneG, 
Esq. 8vo. pp. 468. 12*. London. Murray. 1826. 

2. Spe«ch of the Right Hon. tf. Haskisson in the Home of Ctim- 
MOTM, Thursday, the 23rf of Ftlmiary, 1826, ou Mr. Ellioe's Motion 
for a Select Committee, to iDquire into and examine the StatemeuU 
contained in the various Petitions from Persona engaged in the Silk 
Manufactnre. 8vo. pp. 59. i*. 6rf. London. Halclmtd and Son. 
1826. 

The time ia now fast approaching when a final decision must be 
made upon the question, — upon what terms the people of this 
ecuntry are to be supplied with food ? There camiot be a doubt 
that the com laws, in all iheir bearings, will be reviewed by the 
Legislature in the next session of Parliament ; and although we are 
far from thinking tJiat any permanent code of measures can thai 
be framed, the principles upon which legislation shall in future 
proceed upon this momentous subject must be determined. TTk 
domestic circumstances of England, as well as her relations with 
the rest of the world, are such as to make it absolutely indispensable 
that whatever course she selects shall be clearly known, and steadily 
pursued. 

We may, perhaps, take some other opportunity of stating our 
reasons for the opinion, that the precise conditions underwhich com 
may be imported, cannot be aC once permanently settled. Sup- 
posing that the present laws shall be changed, these conditions 
must ne, in the first instance, adjusted to existing interests, and a 
considerable time must necessarily elapse before those interests can 
in turn accommodate themselvea to the new slate of things. But 
these details in no way affect the gener^ question. That must be 
decided upon reasons which, if good next year, will be good:fcr 
ever. If cheap food and free trade be objects «f the first import- 
ance to England, the doom of the com laWs is sealed. If, on tlie 
other hand, the writers and politicians who, &tr upwards of a 
century, have maintained this opinion, have been all along in 
error, their reasonings" upon those points are as capable of remta- 
tion now, as they can be at any future period of the history of the 
world. 

This, then, is the great issue between the advocates of restric- 
tions upon foreign com, and those who contend for its free or less 
restricted admission. The question has not always been 
stated, nor has it been often fairiy argued, Mr. "M'Dooni 



1 ioidfa 
mei^H 



Fne Trade. 245 

le publication which we are about to notice, has met it^ boldly ; 
ndy in a long -; disquisition, conducted with considerable - abilit;^, 
lough somewhat deficient in clearness and method, • has ehdaa- 
Dured to show that dear food is not an. evil which, requines a 
*niedy ; and that free trade generally, with foreign nations, far 
cm being beneficial, would be a positive mischief. 
There are only two methods of showing that restrictions on the 
nportation of com in any country, and the -deamcss of food at- 
mdant on such restriction, do not tend to check the progress of 
'ealth. Either it must be proved that the high* cost or com does 
ot enhance wages, or it must be shown that a rise of wages does 
lot lead to a fall of profits. If either of these positions be esta- 
blished, the opponents of the com laws are beaten from their strong 
lolds. All their other arguments are confined chiefly to the incon- 
veniences suffered at times by various classes of the people, but 
can have no reference to the aggregate wealth of the nation, , if 
upon those main points they are defeated. Mr. McDonnell attacks 
ks adversaries in both positions, and labours to demonstrate, that 
lugh wages in England are not caused by deamess of food, in such 
a proportion as to lessen profits ; but that, on the contrary, by the 
maimer in' which wages are sustained at a high rate in this country, 
{sa&ts are materially increased. 

■ He explains his views by contrasting the expenditure of an 
Endish with that of a French labourer. He contends that the 
high scale of living which custom has rendered necessary in Eng- 
land, is the cause of the difference in the rates of wages in this 
country and in France ; and resolving the outlay of the English 
labourer's wages into three elements, — 1st, Food ; 2d, Taxes ; 3d, 
Expenditure on articles deemed necessaries by the lower orders, 
according to the peculiar habits of England, — ^he considers that 
the last Item has the far largest share in causing a high rate of 
wages. Taxes, he considers, form, in positive as well as relative 
amount, but a small part of the outlay, and, as falling on the 
labouiijig classes, do not very gready affect the difference of wages 
in France and England. As this calculation forms the key-stone 
of Mr. McDonnell's work, we shall state it in his own terms. 

' Perhaps I shall best illustrate this point by giving a statement of the 
component parts of the average expenditore of a London and a Parisian 
mechanic,' as they have been furnished to me by persons thoroughly ex- 
perienced in this species of detail. It will be perceived that the scale is 
above the rate of ordinary labour ; the chief object, however, is to point 
out the difference in habits ; and the relative rank of the two families haa 
been taken as nearly as possible from the same level. In provincial towns 
tbe disparity exists to a still greater extent ; in many parts of France the 
food of .tYie lower orders is literally three-fourths bread and vegetables ; 
indeed it is here that the superiority of England is mainly a^^^t^xA.. 



Jbinual Ea^endilttre of a Londfm 
Mechanic, viith wife and four 
I children, supposed to earn 30a. 
pea week, or 7^1. a year. 



Bread and vegetables 
Meat, butter, cheese 
Milk, beer, spirils . 
Tea and sugar . . 
Soap, candles, coals 
Clothmg .... 
Rent, furniture. . . 
Aledicme, contiogenciea 



Annual Expenditure of a ParUM 1 
Mechanic, with wife andJiH" 
children, supposed to earn i 
francs a week, or 4&i. 1 0*. f 
lish money a year. 

£ 

Bread, fruit, and regetablea 19 Om 

Meat, liquor, itud articles > 
of hoiue growth . . J 

Imported articles . . 

Fuel, caudles, &c. . ■ . 

Clothing, 



CootingeDcies, amusementa 3 



78 



' The individual in Paris from whom these details are obtained, stalA 
that a much greater diversity of v^ages prereila in I^ris than in Loadoij 
In the former the women also work more, which cannot f 
an influence on the expenditure of a family. 

' This table presents many fruitful subjects for inquiry. No^withstft 
ing the cheapness of food in France, it appears that the excess of w 
in England is absorbed hy the superiority of the fare, and the e J 
of greater comforts. It would therefore be exceedingly fallacious to B 
pose, that if the taxes of the two countries were equalli^ed, and the p 
of corn adjusted to a corresponding level, the expenditure of the two n 
chanics would assimilate. That of the Englishman, from his habits, Im 
establislicd and confirmed, would necessarily range much higher, evn 
supposing the demand fur labour to continue relatively the same.' — ^pP-Ull 
—12. ■ 

Mr. M'Donnell thtin enters into other calculations, which, tl 
auxiliary, are not very material to his argument, and proceeds thuf' 
with reference to what we have just quoted; — 

' We find that in the first item of the expenditure of the French and 
English mechanics, there is a very trifling dilference in regard to the 
money amount. This part of the expenditure is applied principally Ut 
the purchase of bread and vegetables ; and were the position correct, f htl 
dear food alone causes dear wages, the contrast between the two sbonld 
be most striking. The next item is, meat, butter, liquor, and other 
articles of home growth, partaking rather of the character of extra*. 
There is here a considerable disparity ; but I apprehend it will be gene- 
rally granted, that the larger amount on the Hnglisb side proceeds not 
from deameas, but because relatively a larger proportion of these articIeB 
is consumed. Viewing the matter in this light, we should be disposed to 
believe, that so far as observation goes, dear corn by no means exercises 
that overwhelming infiuence so generally imagined. As has been already 
observed, however, viewing only the direct effect, leads to imperfect eon- 
dnsions. The remote operation ia not confined merely to articles of aus- 
lenance. HTiatever raises the VRloe ot ia^iowv , a.ffiM,\.^ ctw^ department 



FreeTrad^n 261 

industiy; and it is always contended, that a labonrer does not con- 
Line an article, that is not greatly enhanced in price from dear food 
wing first augmented the outlay for its production. The woollens pur- 
lased for clothing, and the tables and chairs used in his habitation, thus 
iter the account, and exhibit the evils arising from a dear rate of living 
I an aggravated ratio. It must, however, be evident, that the extent to 
hich these woollens, tables, and chairs, are raised in price, in one coun- 
ry above that in another, through the operation of dear food, depends 
Lpon the proportion of wages really expended in food. If the difference 
Mtween the two countries in this respect be great ; if a man in England 
spends in bread and vegetables as 30, and in France only as 20, then the 
lemote operation of this circumstance upon other articles equally used by 
lum will.be great, and it may be very true to say, that dearness of corn is 
the principal cause why wages are higher in England than in France. 
. Bat if the table produced at all approach to correctness, the difference 
of expenditure in what appertains to the necessaries of life is compara- 
tiYely small. In a corresponding degree, a small influence is exercised 
i^n the cost of other articles, and dear bread by no means produces 
those effects on wages so generally suspected. I conceive it is here that 
mach of the prevailing error on this subject originates. Persons neglect- 
ing details, allow their imagination the fullest latitude in regard to the 
many evOs assumed to flow from the dearness of the primary necessaries 
of life in England. I have endeavoured to expose this error. It is not 
requisite to define exactly the proportion of that difference between the 
wages of England and of France, which is to be attributed to dear food ; 
bat if the table be correct, it would not exceed one-fourth. This, added 
to the eighth allowed under the head of taxation, leaves five-eighths as- 
stable to difference of habits.' — pp. 21 — 23. 

On Mr. McDonnell's calculation here, we have to make one 
short remark, — that in its most material item it is impossible that 
it can be correct. The cost of bread and vegetables to the family 
of tile English mechanic is assumed to be about one-eleventh part 
geater than the cost of the same articles to the French labourer. 
We are not informed when Mr. M'Donneirs estimate was framed ; 
bat any one who will look into the returns of the British consuls 
idipKiad relative to the prices of foreign com during the year 1824, 
wfll find the rate of corn food to be lower in France than in Eng- 
land in the proportioii of between one-half and one- third. We 
g^e a table, framed from these returns, showing the prices of 
wheat in four French ports in the first week. of each of the first 
tbee months of the year 1824, and shovdng also the prices of 
wheat in England during the same periods. 




VaijLng I 
difTerenl 



4fj 
47 


8 
10 


44 2 

45 2 


38 
37 
38 


7 
7 
9 


36 9 
36 9 
36 11 



3(J 



65 7 



This account of prices, taken from a docmnent the general ei 
actness of whicli will not be disputed, needs hardly any commeni 
It will be observed, that the second item in Mr. M'Donnell's esli 
mate is nearly the same in both countries. If the two first iteo 
on each side be added toeether, and compared, first enbatracti^ 
from the French estimate the cost of the article, liquor, (which Hfi 
M'Donnell calculates in another place to amount to £2. 14s. 2d.] 
wc shall find that the whole of the Frenchman's eatables cost hi 
about one-fifth or one-sixth less than the Englishman's fare?— 
difference nearly three limes less than that which existed in 182 
between the prices of agricudtural produce in the two countrie 
Such are the data upon which ingenious writers found systems C 
political economy ! 

Mr. M'Dormell has a chapter in which he endeavours to shcm 
(and we are not disposed to dissent from the opinion), that iti 
possible for such habits to be introduced and established in a nation 
that whenever wages fell so low as to trench on decent comfort 
/lobulation woidd cease to be augmented, and wages would thu 
sustain or recover their due \evc;\, T!\m\\e cuacewea, viould resal 



Free Trade. 253 

nn the prevalence of a certain degree of pride among the people, 
•erating .upon eviery class in the social scale, down to the veiy 
west, Mr. McDonnell seems to think this idea a discovery of his 
v^n, and appears to feel some surprise that it never struck Mr. 
'althus. We own we have always considered that portion of 
[r. Malthus's work to be at once the most valuable, and the least 
>jectionable even to his most strenuous opponents, in which he 
lows the effects likely to be produced by diffused education and 
idvancing wealth, upon the great body of the people. To ^ourish 
I sentiment of self-respect, and thus to produce and confirm habits 
of decency and a desire for comforts among the lowest classes, is 
one of the practical maxims which his treatise on population teaches 
to the statesman. We are not, however, disposed to find fault 
with Mr. McDonnell because he has not been tne first to urge, on 
this subject, the enUghtened views which he very ably advocates. 
But we own we are unable to understand how the fullest accord- 
ance in these views can be deemed inconsistent with the wish, that 
waees were lower in England. He himself admits, that three- 
eigndis of the difference between the rates of wages in France and 
in England result from the difference between the prices of food in 
the two countries ; and he must therefore admit, that to this extent 
at lealst, wages might be lowered amongst us, without diminishing 
the labourer's comforts or his disposition to enjoy them. 

The distinction which Mr. McDonnell makes between that por- 
tion of wages which is expended upon comforts, and the portioa 
allotted for procuring food, is indeed one of great importance in 
all discussions on these subjects. Mr. McDonnell is at ere'at pains 
to enforce it throughout his whole work; but we shall presently 
see that it is fatal to some of his favourite theories. We must oh- 
serve, however, that there is much apparent inconsistency in his 
views respecting this distinction. He maintains, indeed, very 
steadily in every part of his book, that high wages, resulting from 
dicencreased enjoyments of the labourer, are a positive benefit to 
die cimitalist and. to the whole community. But he staggers a 
UtQe wnen he comes to struggle with the other topic, — the enhance- 
ment of wages arising from dear food. At one time he seems to 
affirm that in this caise also high wages are a blessine to society ; 
but the impression which his book leaves upon his reader certainly 
18, that witn the strongest possible inclination to beUeve the con- 
tnuy, he is constrained to admit, - that the high cost of food, ope- 
rating upon wages,' leads to a diminutibn of profits. 

The manner in which he conceives that profits are not depressed 
by increased wages arising from the improved habits of the la- 
bourers, in requiring a larger expenditure for superfluous comforts, 
.iiithus illustrated in the purchase of a coat : 

' ' Suppose the labourer expends in its purchase £4 instead ot £.^* \^ 
tistom regnire of labourers to wear coats, this tends, mote ot \e^^>^» 
njse wages; ^md, to facilitate the argument, I will concede \i\\^X. St ^"^l 



LfiM Free Trade. 



^^H produce on capital the effect de«cribed, and is injurions. Suppose, as t 

^^1 fitlier Imnd, the price of cloth to remain the aaine ; but liiat the labonr 

^^H in place of buying uiie coat, bays two. If the custom of society so I 

^^H elevates itself, as to render the use of two coats necessary, where c 

^^H formerly sufficed, wages will ha equally raised ; and, in place of prof 

^^H Buffering, they n^l be in a high degree benefitted. It is in the umui 

^^H bere cciutemplated, that I wish to be uudcr^rood, by 3peaktii|; of adru 

^^H iog a labonrer's mode of living. Wc are not to imagine blm conaiimi 

^^H Bn nniform quantity of coram odi tic a, and giving a higher price for ths 

^^f but to consider prices as continuing the same, or probably falling, vih 

lie makes larger purchases, and extends them to articles of conSDinpti 

to which he had been previously unaccustomed The reason why increai 

wages, proceeding from this cause, are unattended by the same cBb 

which follow a rise in the price of food, may be at oitce distinctly perceir 

when we reflect tliat the leading characteristics in the production of n 

uufaclurcs and of corn, arc directly opposed to each other. The p 

ductive power of the land diminishes at each stage of increased culti' 

tioD : the productive power in the fabric and fashion of manu&ctn 

scarcely knows a limit, its improvements are, in fact, of daily progr^sv 

The land has been compared to a series of machines, of which the h 

are first put in use: step by step those of inferior description are e 

• ployed ; and as the cost of commodiLlcs produced by bad machines m 
Ijc greater than those produced by good, so must the evils resulting fr 
this state of things progressively advance. Manufactures are produ 
by machines also, but here the worst are first invented; improveme 
are effected, which produce more work, with diminished labour and 
pense of capital. The old machinery hecomiug in consequence gradUE 
euperseded, the expenses of the manu&cture are reduced, and the i 
pilalist increases bis savings. If there existed a boundless extent 
land, of fertility crresponding to that last appropriated for cnltivsti 
none of the economists would maintain that, in this conjuncture, pra 
could by any competition injuriously suffer. Should it then be establiflb 
that the custom of society renders certain articles as indispensable to 
labourer as the raw produce of the soil, and if those articles could 
produced to an uulimited extent, surely il is manifest that profits go 
not he depressed ; since uo owner of slock was constrained, like 

■ farmer, in the previous instance, to devote a greater outlay by hav 
recourse to machines of diminished power,' — pp. ISO — 162. 
The argumeDt here, it must be observed, is not that impro 
ments in machinery increase the comforts of the labourer 
lowering the cost at which he can extend his enjoyments. Tl 
it will presently appear, would be quite adveree to Mr. M'Domw 
whole theory, which, in this part of it at least, is foimded upon 

1 presumption that improvements which abridge labour enlarge f 
&t& instead of lowering prices. His argument is, that if at i 
^iven time a certain portion of the labourers' wages be expeni 
upon manufactured goods, any increase of wages which ma 
that fxpendlture greater, does not diminish profits, but enlar 
the maxket of the manufacturer, suiaaiawa ^nodactian, and ti 
.-at^raenta wealth. Now the tiueBVion.\i.eie,S5,'nnV«VeOosaVftgi 
■ 



Prae^ Trad§. 255 

hancement of wages/ and these extended comforts of the labourer 
be, oiv the whole, beneficial to society, but whether or not they 
yliminifth profits ; and the solution of that question depends upon 
the answer whidi may be given to another : from what fund are 
these increased wages to be supplied ? Mr. McDonnell is quite 
aware, that they must be supphea by that very class concerning 
whose profits this discussion is raised, namely, the capitalists by 
whom tKe labourers are employed, and by whom the new enjoy- 
ments of the labourers are furnsshed, in the shape of manufactured 
or imported goods, sold to the laboinrers or consumers. It is per- 
fectly obvious, that unless the capitalists get more for these goods 
after the rise of wages than previously to it, these wages must be 

Bid out of their profits ; there is no other imaginable fund. Mr. 
'Donnell accordingly assumes that prices will rise, from a notion^ 
that since, as he supposes, the labourers' demand for these articles 
must be suppUed, and since no manufacturer or other dealer is 
obliged to supply them at a diminished rate of profit, capital would 
be invested in other trades, until the producer indemnified himself 
for the increased wages by the higher rate at which he sold his 
goods. But if the rise of wages be general, this resource is closed 
against him. Mr. McDonnell's argument mi^ht avail him if 
wages rose in those manufactures only which are the subject of the 
increased demand of the labourers. But since that is impossible, 
smce the elevation of the labourers in the social scale must be ge- 
neral if it takes place at all, there is no department of productive 
industry in which the capitalist would not find it necessary to make 
an increased outlay witn the same gross return, and in which, 
therefore, he would not find profits reduced. Prices, unless where 
money fluctuates in value, cannot possibly be afiected by an in- 
creased cost of production which is common to all commodities. 
The price of anyone article is nothing else than its value estimated 
by a comparison with all others. That comparison is made in the 
general dealings of the market, and money is only used to signify 
me result of it. When, therefore, it is said, that the manufacturers 
of clothes, furniture, soap, and candles, will sell these articles 
dearer when they pay larger wages to their workmen, the meaning 
of the proposition is strictly this ; that these dealers, for a given 
amount of their products, will obtain a larger share of all the other 
products of the community than they received before the rise of 
wages. If the rise of wages do not affect, or afiect differently, 
{he other producer, this larger share will be given to the former, 
and its amount will be regmated by the extent to which the latter 
noducers are, if at all, aJfected. But if all are equally concerned 
m the rise of wages, the proportions in which all articles exchange 

I for each other, that is, prices, will be precisely the same as before, 
unless (which would be a perfect absurdity) some AeaiXet^ Aiosfe X» 
.qiake a vohuitary tramfer of a part of theix pioperty lo o\!tvet%* 

W \ 'We ksive dwdt the longer upon this part oi Mi. M^Tioxav^^ 



Free Trade. 

r>teni, bfcauee it is not oiJj the part of liis whole work most 
ERterial to ■ his pecHliar views, but because it involves the, drief 
rguiuents of those who- uphold the restrictive policy. The (al- 
ley arises from the iriost fruitful source of errors in aQ opinicms 
n^pectln^ natioiial wealth, the want of considering money prices 
''w only ine index of "the relative value of commodities towards 
Mch' otbbr, aild o£ remembering', that ever\' sale which ia made 
)r money, is in effect an exchange of the article sold for some 
ther article wTiich tlie money is afterwards to purchase. 
Mr. M'Donnell next examines the influence of deamess of food 
^on the profits on capital. His arguments, divested of a good 
feal that 13 beside the question, may be stated as follows. He 
tin ks that dear food is not so much the canse of high wages as 
feh wages are the cause of dear food, and that the price of agri- 
olliUral ptoduce is in a peculiar manner liable to be iucreased by 
Ty me m wages, because it is chiefly raued by manual labour ; 
e cultivation of the soil beine oaly to a very limited extent ea- 
table of receiving the aid of "machinery. This argument; of 
ing from tne increstse of wages, we have already discussed; 
St rests upon the same basis, whether it be applied to manufactorcd 
^oods, or to the produce of the soil. We ao not, however, well 
P understand what use Mr. M'Donnell, or those who so freqnendy 
I ^rge this topic in advocating similar views, can make of the argu- 
9 -ment, even su[)posing it to be true. Although the high cost of 
f ibodwere proved to arise from high wages, it wotdd be still equtfy 
I certain, that the high price of food tends to raise wages. What- 
1 fiver reasons might be urged to establish the first proposition, lie 
} latter rests still on proofs distinct and uncontro verted. The next 
I ^lesition of Mr. M'Donnell requires closer notice. He maintains, 
1 Aat since the increase of population is the cause of taking new 
' iKids into cultivation, and of enhancing thepriceof agriculturM pro- 
t tcbibe, and since population increases in consequence of the stilnulos 
given by the increased activity of capital, — proving the e3dstence 
I jffiF hi^ profile, — food can then only become dear, and wages can 
I 2tieu only rise in consequence of its dearness, when trade is brisk; 
r ■mid profits are high. Profits, in short, must have been rdsed, 
f fcdbre population increased, and food became dearer ; and **aiif 
r wages should rise, and their rise shotdd diminish profits, still 'fliftre 
f Ib' no reason why the capitalists should not sustaiti the itdrantffe 
jchich they had gained, and at least indemnity themselves It* tne 
Tpicrcased charge of labour, by keeping prices at the level to whWi 
f^ebrisfctiesa nf trade had raised them. And at all e\-ent»i'lfce 
^ teosperous condition of trade whieh this state of things woidd-in- 
* oicate, would lead to such improvements in machinery, and tiie 
arts of abridging labour, as" would prevent a fall of profits fWin 
iyjowinj? the rise of wages. i . - .. 

Now this mode of arguing is a.5\e\0an.^ v\^ o? ike qjiestion. ft 



Fre$ Trad*. MI 

enhaocei] cost of food ; and ii resorts, as a remedy, to the coutj- 
aiuLDL-e of prosperous trade, and to the exjiedient of sustaining 
profits by inveatioDs of machinery. As lo the first, Mr. M'Don- 
nell admits, that the brisk demand For commodities which gave the 
imDtilse to capital in the case supposed, may very possibly cease 
or languish aiter the lapse of some time ; and as to the second, it 
is surprising that after the experioice of, especially, the last sixty 
jeai3 in this country, it should be still seriously maintained that 
the eSect of improvements in machinery can be any other than 
eolarged production and diminished prices. The process by which 
juices invariably fall upon the iutroductioD of such improvements 
is as simple as can well be conceived, T!ie trade in which they 
are applied, affording at liist larger profits, attracts capital from. 
other employments, until profits arc assimilated through the whole 
trading community, and the trade in which the new machine is 
Dsed is brought to a level witli all others. These plain truths have 
been so often and so fuUy proved, that it is unaccountable how Mr. 
M'Donnell could have misapphed, as he has, some quotations irom 
the works of various economists, whose very words seem expressly 
to n^^tive the conclusions which they are introduced to establish. 
A specimen of this is to be found in page 210 of Mr. M'Donnell's 
Heatise, on which we have not space for more particular com men L 
In depicting the overwhelming losses which the national industry 
would sustain from the free admission of foreign com, Mr. M'Don-; 
■tell thus estimates the quantity of agricultural products consumed 
in this country, and tlie reduction of prices which would follow the 
leiooval of restrictions. 

Present Cansumption. ConteM|dated Reduciion. 

Wheat . 10,698,333 . at 20«. per quarter £10,698.333 

Barley . 7,390,833 . „ lOa. „ 3,695,416 

Oats . 19,775,000 . „ 6*. 8rf, „ 6,591,666 

Rye . 799,166 . „ 12s. „ 479,999 

Beans and Peas 2,170,000 . „ 12*. „ 1,302,000 



40,833,332 £22,767,414 ' 

It is evident,' he says, ' that to this amount the agricultural 
xests must BuiFer.* But if this estimate be correct, what be- 
comes of the argument that the iiigh price of food results from 
hMfh wages ? It prices would fall to this extent on the admission 
of imported grain, the conclusion is irresistible, that at present 
the sum of £22,767,414, is expended — exhausted on superfluous 
UxHir, aud that the importation of foreign produce would, to this 
vrhtde amount, give a clear gain to the country. It is perfectly 
true that the immediate reduction of prices to this extent would 
iorolve a large portion of the agricultmists in ruin. But in dealing 
with the general question, how far restrictions on the via.Yit\a.Mvwi 
of com interfere with the progress of national weaitix, ^axvicviax 
*" ■ eater into oar cwMideraawt thna tat qg^^, ^toa^ ^ 




358 Free Trade. 

framing legislative measures with a view to an altered policy, i 
the imijerative duty of the rulers of the stale to guard these io- l 
t«rests from tjie mischiefs of sudden changes. It is but strict T 
justice that they who have entered into engHgcuienls upon t^e 
faith of existing laws, should be allowed ful] leisure to accomiDO- I 
date their circumstances to a new system. But the question here 
is, whether the present system be m itself a good one ; and the ' 
argument of Mr, M'lJbonell and its other advocates amoimti ' 
tdainly to this : that it would have been disastrous in tJie extreme ~ 
d ^ the lands now cultivated in these islands had been of equall]' 
kigh fertility. The redaction of prices to the amount above stated '" 
would, it is said, not only ruin the agriculturists, but go far to dfr " 
stroy the home trade. Our manufacturers, it is alleged, would lose ' 
theu- best market if the agricultural classes were not enabled to 
purchase the goods of the former by receiving high prices for their - 
own produce. These prices, however, would never nave risen, bat _ 
for the necesiaCj of resorting succeseively to lands of inferior fer- * 
tilitj-, requiring a larger cost to raise apou them equal proponk«s , - 
of food ; and *hen it is said that the wealth of liie country and ,- 
its manufacturing industry would suffer by this supposed narrowing 
of the home market consequent upon the cheapening of food, it " 
is only the aflirming of these startling propositions : that a waste 
of labour is good policy, and that the barrenness of the earth is a 
blessing to its inhabitants. 

Mr. M'DonneU's speculatioim conceiving reslrioiion on the im- 
portation of other foreign products, are pretty much in accordance 
with his views on the subjects which we Lave already noticed, flis 
theory on this subject is not altogether new, but it is ralber curir 
ously compounded. He urges the usual topic, that the freer ;iQ- 
troduction of foreign products would destroy many branches of 
manufacture which in this coimtry have thriven under rcstricliraia; 
and he then boldly affirms, and proceeds at great len^lh to suj^ort 
the a^ertion, that a free intercourse with other countries would 
enrich them at the expense of England. This main pillar of ihe 
old, mercantile, and (we had almost thought) exploded system, li 
decorated with very many fanciful illustrations, which will rewaid 
fca- the perusal any curious reader who may happen to be parlw 
to these themes. Mr. M'Donnell, however, must permit^ifs tosaj;. 
that he is not exempted from the lot of all who have ev^ ^Y^ 
cated these views, — an inconsistency between two of their ohirf 
arguments^ which wholly neutralizes the effeotof both. It U said, 
that free intercourse (with France for instance) will in she Sr9l pW« 
enable the French mMnrfacturers to trndersell many ofMWfT'pW 
ducers in Our own majiet; and secondly, by augmenting thfe'W 
sources and indusiry of France, will enable her traders to driv? * 
out of foreign markets also. Now the tiffit of theBe o[)inibd9 is 
/bunded on the belief, that there \s aueVv a iVffetMvce between ll» 
!ft'es of the two couateies, i\i:«i,aia^^^^g» *»» -ptAiOEK 






iPV-M TraJk. ft69 

Cheaply, the other can pnly produce with great difficulty and at a 
lugh cost. It sapposesy also, that the latter country has seme pro- 
ducts which it can advantageously exchange with the former. 
Whatever might be the cheapness at which France could produce 
those articles which are supposed, with us, to require protecting 
duties, she could not, as to tnose articles, undersell us in our market, 
unless 106 had some ]MX)duct to give in exchange. If silks were tea 
times as cheap in France as in England, they would not be im- 
ported unless we could pay for them, and this we could only do by 
rivingsome commodity which we could raise more advantageously 
Uian Prance, or by giving money which we procured in another 
quarter in exchange for some commodity in which France could 
n»i undersell us. If this be true, it follows, that whatever impulse 
a trade with us might give to a foreign country, she never could 
mdensell us in of 2 Uiose commodities which we were in the habit 
of sending to foreign markets. But there is another error in the 
process ofreasoning employed by the opponents of free trade. If; 
when restiictions exist, there be any forei^ commerce at all, it 
must hie in those products which the exporting country already sells 
with equal or with more advantage than the country whicn tibe 
removal of restrictions, it is alleged, would raise into a rival. If 
France cannot now undersell us m the markets of Columbia, the 
increased wealth which free trade might give her, could not enable 
her to drive us out of these markets, unless while she advanced, in 
prosperity, we should stand still. The argument is a naked ab- 
surdity, unless it ca^ be shown, that there is something in free 
trade which, while it stimulates the industry of one naticxi, and 
escited l3ie public mind to all those inventions which abridge labour 
md cheapen production, lays at the same time a palsjrins weight 
«pon her neighbours, deadening all those moral and physical en4 
wies whidi would enable them also to speed forward m the career 
oTcommercial and social improvement. 

We cannot help yielding here to the temptation of expressing 
cor opinicms in far better words than our own, by a short quotation 
fiom Mr^t Huskisson's speech, delivered in the late debate upon th<f 
sOk trade ; — one of the most masterly arguments which is perhaps 
to be found, within the same compass, on the principles of free 
trade* He is adverting to the opimons of one qi his antagonists, 
b^nressed upon a former occasion. 

' " U was rasUy abiurd to csntend/' continiied the houovraUe membtf, 
^tkiiif « eotmtiy, by sellings any article of manafactare, coold parchaia 
ths.mdBca wbiob it might require, at one half the expense at which that 
]R0(Uice:CODl4 be raised, it should nevertheless be precluded from doing 

. 'This is ung^stiMiably sound doctrine, and I readily admit lt« B>al^ 
Inw is it to be reconciled with the doctrine, which is now moimVakcA^ V^ 
peat antioniies_ oat of doors, as that which ought to \>e \2ci<& x>3\^ ^l ^300^ 
eimuBcmal policy f According to these authorities, to vr\i\dci "w^ "^"^^ 

% 1 



Free Trade. 

now to kdtl tliat of Hie honourable and lenrned accondef of the ilrc§«ilt 
motion. ProliilritioD is the only effectual |)rutecLiou to trude : — duties must 
be nniLvailiDg for this purpoBe, because the inQucacc of soil aud climate, 
the price of labour, the ralo of taxation, and other circurastances.are 
GODstaDtly varying iu different countries, aud consequently, the scale of 
protection would require to be varied from month to month. But. what 
is the legitimate interfereoce to be drawn from this exclusive system 1 
Can it "be other than this — that all interchange of their respective com- 
modities, between different countries of the world, is a source of evil, la 
the one or the other f — that each country must shut itself up within itself, 
making the most of its own resources, refusing all commerce with any 
other country, barbarously content to suffer wants which this commerce 
might easily supply, and to waste its own superfluous productions at 
home; because, to excliange thorn for the superfluities of that other 
country, instead of being no exclusive advantage to either party, would 
afford an tquivnlent benefit to both. This is the short theory of Probi' 
bitioos, which these sage declaimers against all theory, are so anzioos to 
recommend to the practical mecchunts of this country. 

' But, can Prohibition ever be tried under i^cumstancee of greater 
favour, than it now experiences in Spain % In that flourishing country, 
prohibilion has been carried to the very extreme. There, restriction has 
been added to reairiction — tlicrc, all the fruits of that beautiful system 
are to be seen, not yet, perhaps, in full maturity, but sufficiently mature 
to enable every one to judge of their qualities. Spaiu is the best sample ■ 
of the prohibitory system ; the most perfect model of fallen greatness ' 
and of internal misery, of which modern civilization affords an example— 
an example to be traced, not only in the annihilation of her commerce and 
■Maritime power, but, in her scanty revenue, in her bankrupt resources, • 
in the wretchedness of her population, and in her utter iusigniltcancit •: 
among the great powers of the world. The commercial policy of Spsin h 
is simply thb — to admit nothing from other countries — eiccpt what ihe ^ 
smuggler brings in. And the commercial wisdom of the honourable and 
Iearned8econ4erofthcpresentmotion is equal to thai of Spain.' — pp.18— 20. _ 

We have endeavoured to give as clear a statement of Mr. 

M'Doiinell's principal doctrines on the com laws and free ir^de as - 

was consistent with the space to which we are iicccssiirDy liinitcd' ^ 

Injustice to Mr. M' Donnell we must add, that there is a great " 

deal in his work which we have altogether omitted to notiff- ^ 

Much is said on the subject of combination laws and currency, ^ 

which appears to us not very happily blended with the rest (rf te , 

theories. His work, however, niay be considered, cm the vAde, ^ 

to be as full and able a defence of antiquated systema of poUuy as g| 

can well be expected in the present times. The course of pablw ~, 

opinion (as indeed Mr. M'Donnell acknowledges) is, ft>rt«nately „ 
for mankind, likely, to be in each successive year more and more 

inclined ti> the opposite direction. In lhi3 country the principl*! " 

that freedom of production and of interchange is the true pofo ^ 

of all nations, haa taken too strong a \ici\d to be ever uproolea. ■ 

£ven that cjasa of the commuTOty ■vi\niiAi<a& !0^y»fcaii&ft ^"""" *" 



Swan*8 VatfOffe^ up th§ Misdiierranean. 'USt 

tionfof this policy ia th^ most important of all concerns, tile sup^ 
ply of the nation's food, will at length find it impossible to resist 
the force of plain reason, and the just demands of all the other 
classes of the people. They will at length see that what is bene^ 
ficial to the whole country cannot be ii^oiktas to them, and that 
those maxims of general policy which tend to multiply the con- 
nections between nation and nation, and thus increase the motives 
and the means of peace throughout the world, deserve,^ in an 
especial manner, the support ana countenance of the possessors of 
die soil. Trade, and the capital which is invested in it, may shift 
didr stations. They did so from Venice, Genoa, and Holland,, 
they may do so from England. But the landholders are fixed to 
their country. They must abide its fate whether for good or for 
evil; and -whether calamity shall come upon it from wars, produced 
by those disputes and jealousies concerning commerce which have, 
heen in past times such a fruitful source of misery to mankind, or 
whether, like the Dutch, the English are doomed to witness the 
departure of their wealth, attracted to other countries in which the 
gains of the capitalist are not sacrificed to maintain a hieh cost of 
mod and labour, — ^whatever, in short, be the misdiiefs which mis- 
taken policy may bring upon England, the proprietors of land 
must be that class of the community which will suffer most, and 
whose sufferings must last the longest. That such disasters shall 
ever visit this country, we have little apprehension ; for we. think 
that sufficient tokens have appeared, botn within and without the 
walls of ParUament, to assure us that another session will not;paas, 
withofut;.!^' satisfactory settlement of the vital question, how 
chftftpjly, or how dearly, tho Engli^ people are in future to. be 
wppU^ with food. . 



'*■ ■ P "V 



Art. IV. Journal of a Voyage up the Mediterranean r principally 

- among the Islands of the Archipelago, and in Asia Minor: including 
mBEOy intier^tinj^ Particulars relative to the Greek Revolution, especially 
a chmrhey throngh Maina to the Gamp of jbrabim Pacha, together witli 
Oteenrations on the Antiqaities, Opinions, and Usages of (keece, as 
they ii(yw -exist. To which is added, an Essay on the Faoanotes, 
trandated from the French of Mark Philip Zallony, a Greek, By the 

■ Sev. -Charles .Swan, late of Catherine Hall, Cambridge; Chaplain to 
BL Jkf* B* Cambrian ; Author of " Sermons pn several Subjects ;" and 

.. iCraa<|la4or of the *^ Gest^i Romanorum.*' 2 Vpls. 8yo. . 1/. 1^, Lon- 
dQB»ittA^-,^d J[.,Rivington. 182^6. 

Wixtf 'ttie tiihieption of a quaint motto, we havel^et but the whole 
of tbie'iidi^' pa^e ^hich theTev., author has been pleased to prefix to 
thesie V61aml^, as'to obseirrant readers it wBl mdicaXft'tiX. <k^ ^a^ 
A9cdct the eexneral . character of the work, l^ot c««vX»dX. n^S&v ^«^ 
hog biUofmre which be has given u^, Mr. Swaiitafee%\\.\v^Q'tvjE&Sxv- 



1 



S6S &'waH's Vojfoge up tfta Medilerranean. 

•di' to sasuie lu of iu escelleace. Hia ' particuian relative lo 
ihe Greek revolution' are not only numeroiu but ' inttfreating,' 
especially his journey 'to the camp of Ibrahim Pacha.' Next 
come liis antiquarian raearchea, an essay on the Fanariotes, and 
adorning all, the name of the learned author, mih his titles of 
chaplain, preacher, and translator of the Gesta Komanorum. All \ 
tim pomp of amiouncement seems to U3 to be in very bad taste. 
The author might at least have left his readers to form their owa 
judgment as to the interest or value of the materials which he has 
laid before them, and we own that we can trace no particular con- 
nection between the Gesta Romanorum and a voyage up the Mc 
ditcrranean. If Mr. Swan had been desirous of impressing us with 
a favourable notion of his inventive powers, the case might haTe 
been oihcnTisc. But it is to be presumed that he intended hit 
journal to be the repository of facta and of accurate observatioiit, 
relative to the countries which he visited, and that he never sup- 

Eosed thathis genius wan in the slightest degree trained to romance 
y the legt-nds which formed the delight of his earher days. 

We apjirehend the reader will iind it otherwise. We have sel- 
dom perused a journal detailing the fleeting events of the day, 
tvhich we have thought less deserving of confidence than the one 
before us. It is a sort of daily newspaper, in which, under succes- 
sive dates, reports of battles by sea and liuid, descriptions of dia- 
racter, and observations on men and things are made, often upon 
the most irapert'ect evidence, and generally in a very loose and 
unsatisfactory manner. The recent mLsfoitunes of Greece, since 
the fall of Missolonghi, have taken away, moreover, much of the 
*iti>Brest' which Mr. Swan attaches to his ' particulars' of her sao- 
gninary and protracted struggle for freedom. His journal, besides, 
does not come down later than that of Mr. Eniereon, which has 
bemsome time before the public ; and it scarcely contains a single 
fact respecting Greece with which we had not been already fiJly 
acquainted. 

We are disposed, however, to afford Mr. Swan every praise for 
the enthusiasm which he uniformly displays in behalf of that suf- 
fering and afflicted nation. It is to us matter of no small surprise 
to see the British cabinet look on so quietly at the invasion and 
conquest of tlie Peloponnesus by the Egyptians. Ibrahim Pacha 
may now be said to be undisputed master of that peninsula ; and his 
^ther, the Viceroy of Egypt, perhaps the most enRghtened and 
enterprising Mahometan who has held the reins of empire for some 
centuries, is at this moment making every preparation to assist him 
with fresh forces, in order to complete a subjugation which has beeO 
already too far advanced. His own resources are formidable; but 
he dots not depend on these alone, for all the world, except the 
BiitMi cabinet, sees with open eyes, and the greatest amazement, . 
chat he receives from the Irencil ministry ai\ xVve aid m tooB^i 
^rav, aauaunition, and men, whick be cboosea Vx tec^c^ 'tu. 



Swan's Vojfoge up. tk^ MediiBrransan, 3A2 

kigenuily of difdQmaey has, indeed> invented expressions which^ as 
between the English and French eabineta^ serve to give this tran^< 
action a colouring merely commercial ; but the plain sense of the 
people of this country has set it down as a piece oif the most bare- 
faced eajolsry, which one government has ever dared to practu^ 
upon another. . 

This iateroourse between Marseilles and Egypt dioi:dd be judged 
^f not by the official phraaecdogy in which M. de Villele describes 
it, but by its manifest result, and its equally unequivocal object,- 
Its result ifi, that Mehemet-Ali is enabled to send reinforcements to 
his son, which, otherwise, he could not have so abundantly pro^ 
vided ; and its object is to prevent the continent -and islands of 
Greece firom placing themselves, as they proposed to do> under the 
fMrotection of Great Britain. Before the Egyptians interposed at 
all in the contest, we were of opinion that peace and security could 
never be attained by the Greeks without resorting to this policy, 
but since Mebemet-Ah and his son have appeared actively engaged 
tn assisting the sultan to reduce that people to their farmer state of 
slavery, the question has become one in which our own policy and 
9ur own national interests are essentially interested. 
• For does any man in his senses suppose that, if the viceroy ac^ 

Jiuire military possession of Greece, he will ever restore it to ^the 
>ttoinan .Porte l He must be a greater fool than we take him to 
be if he meclitates any such thing. In the Ottomj^n dominions 
power is generally equivalent to ri^t. As soon as the Greeks shall 
be crushed .ii^to. submission,, oc at least deprived of the means, of 
making further resistance, Mehemet-Ali, keeping before his eyes 
the ooiDduct of liis good friend M. de Villele towards miserable 
3palii,. will send the sultan a pretty long list of expenses for the 
wak', wd in the mean time will take it upon himself to prevent any 
aewtinsurrections in Greece until he be reimbursed in his outlays, 
wUeh. will most probably happen about the time of the Greek 
Calends! 

This, we. fepeat^it, i^ a prospect of affairs not to be contemplated 
by. Great Bijitain with indiiference. Gibraltar, Malta, and the 
loQian Ifilands^afibrd us indeed some strong holds in the Meditcr^ 
naeaisi which cannot be- easily taken from us, and which must 
always seeiKPO to us -a eommanc&ig influence in that qoarter. But 
^j'petma^ if we can help it, anew power to grow up there which, 
by BCielW of the Morea and the islands in the Archipelago, a];id the 
interested ^d zealous alliance of France, might in time become a 
mnfet formid'able competitor? Mr. Canning;^ w^ suspect^. sees xas 
far ^ Itlis k^eighbouis, and it is i^iuch to be lamented if his efforts 
fov! th^ .liberation pi. Greece have met v^ith as muchresistaiice i^t 
|i(Mni9) a^ :they seem, to have hitherto enicxau^ered ,firom abroady- 
...Sttt.topretujn to the jou^ial befcu:^ us. Wetp^kS&qiH^v^&^V:^^ 
iii^)|p^.$hai) ^Stance tddji the w\^6ifi of that pa^t o$ bi« vio^ m^\A5^ 
^ autkq^,!tife&ts i» k? a desccipiion of Cadiz, te^ xeV\gtfsv» c«»- 



T 



264 ituian't Voyagt up tha Mediterranean. 

monies and usages. Though he spent but two or three days 
Spain, he enters into dissertations upon these subjects, which shoff [ 
that he is wholly ignoTEiDt of them, and he offers reflections upoit i'-' 
its recent revolution, which, though like most of his reflections, [' 
clothed in ambitious language, and full of pretension, evidently ] 
demonstrate that he is unacquainted with the people of whom he f' 
writea. Above all things we are surprised that he found no bean- ^ 
tiful women in Cadiz, though perhaps the presence of a French ■ 
ffiuristai there might in some measure account for their absence, ■ 
From this place be proceeded (Oclober, 1824) as chaplain of the - 
Cambrian to Malta, Naples, and Genoa, and of course we have 
an indefatigaUe account of Etna, Scylla and Charybdis, the de- 
light^ of quarantine, the Bay of Naples, the Lazzaroni, and Her- 
culaueum, and Pompeii. It is pleasaut to tind him on every pos- 
sible occasion crying out against what he is pleased to designate ai • 
bigotiy, he himself being the choicest specimen of a bigot that i 
we have for some time encountered in the walks of literature. 
We think he might with advantage have excluded the subject of i 
religitm altogether from hia cuuEideration, particularly as hi-; im- '■ 
partiahty, on this subject at least, was liable to a little suspicion, ^ 
and as he sets out with a promise that he will not ' present a guide- 
book to the public,' concerning ' a wearisome repetition ol what 
others have said,' — a negative promise, which he appears to have 
very soon forgotten. It is amusing to observe the selt-complacency , 
witn which he lays down the plan of his work. 

' Whatever strikes mc, I sliall coainiit to paper *, cmbodyitig Eu*!li re- 
flections as the occasion may suggest, without much regard to systematic 
ftiraDgemcnt. Details of pictures, and statues, and palaces, are, at best, 
bitt a mawkish kind ut reading : people rarely agree about these tliiugSj or 
rise much better or wiser from the perasal. And it would be iinpoasJlilo ' 
to convey, even to an amateur, any considerable portion of that plcaaure 
which an inspection of the originals may have produced. But the majo- 
rity of mankind are not amateurs ; uad, of those who call themselves such, 
how maay are goveraed by affectation, by fashion, by any thinj but a real 
taste. A bonk, therefore, which abounds much in these matters, may not 
be a bad book ; but the chances are greatly in favour uf its being thought 
eo. In reality, these are subjects which should be seen, not read of; es- 
amiaed in person, not judged of at second hand. As a taste fur tlien 
cannot be acquired by reading, bo neither by reading can a matured taita 
And a solid gratification. It is the feast of tbe Barmecide ; subtiif, Wr 
substantial fare ; a vapour exhaled by the appetite, and lust iu the warmth 
of its embrace. Descriptions of natural objectsi on the other hand. 1 shall 
oralt no opportunity of giving. Here the scene lives — breathes ; »rt baa 
aot contaminated its beauty, nor diminished the brilliaucy of il& chwacler. 
Instead of a feeble copy, the eyo dwells upon a glowing origiaat, and tbo 
impression which it carries to the feelings has a vividness and ft fid^i^.of 
reflection, which not uufrequcntly penetrates to the heart of tfie re^er. 
limay be consecrated by the past ^lotj oiman.ot Stma.-j ei\«\.QD\^ va its 
own; bat in either case it speaks witb aft tWi'Miarj.oiitttf'-''"''^*"™* 
i/ie loveliDese of trulb.' — Vol i. pp. 81 — S3. 



Sioan'a Voyafft up th« Mediterranean. 26£ 

In point of fact, he does precisely that which be promiaes not 
to do, or at least he does something still more disagreeable, for he 
liaa crowded his jourDal with accounts of ancient rCtins, whicK 
liave been already described by at least half a century of writers/ 
and he has disfigured his pages with inscriptions whith he ackiiow-' 
kdges are perfectly unintelhgible. This, indeed, to use his high- 
Down and equally unintelligible language, ' is the feast of ihe Bar-, 
Inecide ; subtdle, unsubstantial fare ; a vapour exhaled by ihe ap- 

Etite, and lost in the warmth of its embrace'! The embrace of 
e appetite ! was it indeed at Cambridge thai Mr. Swan acquired 
ihis style of rhetoric 1 The Gesta Romanomm might surely have 
helped him to a better similitude than this, or at least have taught 
him a less fidsome mode of expression. But this passage, morbid 
as it is, sinks into insignificance in comparison with the splendid 
promise which follows. ' Descrijitions of natural objects, on the 
other hand, I shall omit no opportunity of giving. Here (in this 
journal of course) the scene lives — breathes ; art has not contami- 
aiat«d its beauty, nor diminished the brilliancy of its character.' 
The reader, however, who is in the slightest degree acquainted with 
the scenery of the Archipelago, will fand, that Mr. Swan carefully 
•omits' almost every 'opportunity' which presented itself to him 
for thje description of natural objects, and that those scenes which 
he ^^empts to paint are sketched with so feeble a hand, that instead 
ttf f living and breathing ' in his ioKnortal work, they fade into 
Mothingness under his pencil. As to the ' glowing original,' the 
* vividness of reflection,' the ' past glory of man,' and the swelling 
close Of his period — ' with all the luxury of sentiment, and all the 
loveRtifiss of truth,' we pass them over as mere unqualified fijatian. 
PcrfecUy analogous to tliis phraseology is that of jUmost every 
coEagJIment which he inflicts upon his acquaintance — we mean 
Eilca of them as are possessed of any infiuence in the world, for 
the miserable, and those who stood in need of his kindness, have 
receive^ little at his hands but reproach. Mrs. Charies Fox, 
(daughter of the Duke of Clarence), who happened to be a passen- 
ger iu.ttie^ Cambrian, as far as Malta, ia tlius eulogised : — 
'Ifhitniy fcminiDe softness of ber ntauucr, ftided by the kioduess and 
, goMne^' of her heart, possesses an almost irresistible attraction, and 
l«We8'h(!rfrSendBduubtfu] whether she should be prized more for the gea- 
lleriess WcliSpbsition wliich prompts, or for the natural delicacy of cha- 
iBcferxtKcfa envelopes and embalms her every action.'— Vol. i. p. 84. 

PAS9a^;es of this description abound in these two precious vo- 
lume^- but v/t have no room to notice them. We must, however, 
diwntfae altenliott of the reader to page 116, vol. i., jn wKich Mr. 
Swtfa Itmdiy complains of those travelJers who are so ambitions as 
to'inriiHbe ftieir names upon the riiins which they \i^, , H.'i ^iiM.'i 
cohclbdes'his eloquent invective : — 

ycbUdisb vanity effects more tbanXifl 



1 



266 Stetm's Voyage up fha Mediterrantan, 

aotltguity, and prompts wenk sad inconsiderate moo to waste, trith stapid 
InditTMODce, tuunumcntB which uothing ean repair. Let mc say it; tW | 
breatb ibat eucircled the uolamn. Die iiiflueDC« wliich floated arcnuid tt, 
wben ill ail tba pomp and plenitude of beathcu maguiliuence, ia ehippod »- 
sway by these anfeeling [iretuoders to verluV — Vul. i. ]>• 117, 

We are not disposed to excuse the silly vanity which inducei ^^ 
otir travellers to deform jnibltc monuments in the manner here :; 
complained of. Bat to say that the monuments are thm wasted ^ 
away, is surely a slight exaggeration. As to ' the breath that eth ^s 
circted the column," and ' the incense which floated around it' be- a 
ing * chipped' off by such means, we own that we are at a loss tu ^ 
ondemnnd the pprocess lo wliich Mr. Swan alludes. a 

Our anthor appears to be no very sticnuous supporter of the )b 
Bible Societies, He seems to think that the credulity of the good "li 
Iblks of this country has been imposed upon to a considerable ex- '■ 
tent by the reports which have emanated from some of these om- • 
lent associations. He mentions several Instances that came wimiil ?■■ 
life knowledge of the injudicious distribution, or rather, indeed, of i 
the total waste of Bibles, printed in different languages, and sent h 
ont to the Levant for the conversion of thi: Greeks, Mahometaio, ** 
and Jews. The multitude of these eopies forms a conspicuoi* 
item in the annual reports of the Bible institutions at home, anil ' 
the subscribers who hear these reports read, and place the tana, ' 
implicit conlideoce in their correctness, never dream the while that ^ 
their money is in very many cases absolutely liirown away. 

The most amusing portion of t^ese volumes is that which is 
devoted to the proceedings of the The Cambrian, while she was 
emfrftiyed in chastising tlie nutnerous pirates who infest the Arehi- ^j 
pelago. The relation of the several contests in which she wew 
engaged with these hardy and adroit buccaneers is often lively an^ 
romantic- We shall sefeci one scene, which tefmlnated in a 
manner satisfactory to all partiesj and which is really given with : 
much picturesque elTect. 

' fVediwsday, 2d Feb. — Weighed anchor at ui early hour. Abotf ta 
o'elock we discovered 6ve small Jjaline vessels sailing cloaa under the 
coast of TheSEBly, ini mediately at tho cntraucc of the Oalfof VdIo.' Snp- 
posiirg them a part of the piratical Crnizere, they were iired at for the pif" 
pose of being broaght to : they were not, however, within bIioL It vu 
a beautiful morning, with light winds, which jast,eerTGd lo ripple Ibe out- 
face of the water. The L'tHnea farlod their sails, pnt back, and puHeJ 
jato & narrmv creek, where they were safe for the tiaie frMB moleatatitn : 
they then climbed the rocks to watch our motions. As the alijcul of (vftf* 
tain HsKiiitoD was only to ascertain who and what they were, he wiBbed 
to try elkiTf conciliating meaeore before lie resorted to any tliBiff 'havslk 
With this view he despatched odc of the wounded prisoners #ho roaaiud, 
with a Bag ot truce, and a request that some of their leaders wosld come 
onboard bis ship. la tticiueait timcpreyata\,\fifta\vM*ia»L4t?ot arefasal. 



Swan's Voyagu up t/ie Medilerranuan. '2&1 

fustoh, muskets, au<I cutlasses, for the whale crew. It ceitainly was au 
aaimating scene ; the snapping gf flints wag perpetual, aud the bustling, 
not to my jagotis, air ot the younger officers, was stroug evtiletice how 
Tividif they felt the power of what was goitig forward. 

' On the return of the bo.it, after leaviug our ambassAdor ia the hauds 
«f his countrymoii, we had a picturesque account of their proceedings. 
V<cy approached without seeing a man, but as soon as they had landed 
the prisoner and retired, a whistle wai hcfird, and immediately upwards of 
M hundred men sprung from beneath the bushes of the rocks, ITie ioci- 
jdent in Sir W. Scott's " Ladi/ of the Lake." that, namely, of Roderic 
Dha and his clansmen instantly recnrredl Altuwing a si^eient time fof 
Consultation our boat was despatoheil b second timCj aud retiinied witb 
foot ot fiye Greeks, for whose safety our first lieutenant, perhaps, nti- 
jvisely, had chosen to remain as a hostage ; however, he was treated with 
Ifevery civility. 

^ ■ The account given by these people was, that they were gun-boats 
uelonging to a smnll Greek squadron, consisting uf two brigs, a schooner, 
piuiwhat is called a mt/Rtico, (which is something resembling a very email 
ieliooner), cruising on the opposite side of the gulf. It seems thftt twelve 
^Turkish vessels arc now in Volo, and that the Greeks have fitted out this 
tbrnament with a design to intercept and burn the fleet of (heir enemy. 
Slie Cyrene, however, had met with the gun-boats last evening, and hnd 
feed at tbem for a considerable time. From all these drcumstances they 
■Oneliided that we were Turldsb men of war, and our steady pnrsuit coife>' 
bmed them ia the idea. In conclusion, they agreed to acoompany us to 
kc station of t,he larger vessels from which they bad been detatched. 
■ • The sun set even more magnificently than usual. On ouo side was 
be oooat of Tbessaly, bending round us like a bow^ with Monnt Parnas-' 
Bs tovcring in the distance ; on the other side was the Island of Negro- 
fDnt; tho Islands of Scopeli, Skiatho, and Poudico-niai to the east. 

' Ottlj one of tlie Greek vessels haviug issued from the creek, according 
D th^ agreement, our boats were again manned and armed, and with 
l!aptaia Hamilton himself at their head, proceeded to act as occasion 
iiigbt dictate, first, however, a boat set forth with a flag of truce, and 
(rand the Greeks all on the alert, and stationed amongst the bushes, with 
flidc muskets ready for the action, which they seemed to think inevitable, 
k parley now onsned, which lasted till suu-set, when they were persuaded 
to come aluog ade of our ship : but this abject, though advised and wished 
1} their leaders, was effected with difficiilty, and Captain Hamilton, to 
fiuet eiI>P'ebeDW)ns which appeared to increase rather than abate, went 
tinglylato one of their boats, standing as calmly when exposed to the 
iwge 4f their muilkets as he would have done upon the deck of his own 
^p. By tliis lime a boat belonghig to the Greek brig of war, despatched 
by Mr aatnmaiKler, arrived at the creek, aud tliis, no doubt, contributed 
a gflod deul to dissipate the alarms occasioned (as we found) by the in- 
fioeiiUe belief of our being Turkish or jitistriait ships. It eeem^ that the 
UltnhKTe, in several recent instances, betrayed them, into the banda of 
Ifaeir foes.'— Vol. i. pp. 205—209. 

We have already- aOudtd to Mr, Swan's facilil^ iu coav^KifewV 



968 Swan's Voyage up llut MedUerrauean'. ■ 

pened to come into contact. We have also glanced at the very 
oifierent sort of disposition by which he seems to have beea acta-* 
ated with regard lo those who stood mo^t in need of bis charitable 
ofBees as a Christian and a clergyman. Let the foUowiog passage 
be our justification for the latter remark. The threat tvhh whidi 
it concludes is ludicroas enough. We need bardly say that we do 
not believe there is a single capt^n in his majesty's navy who 
TFUuld sanction the sentiments which are here expressed. 

* 'We have been much incommoded by tbi! number of (be pnsseAgers;^ 
Wid the difficulty of finding them births is uut sniaU. I caouot, in tlui 
place, forbear throwing out u hint to those who may hereafter be fayonre^ 
with a passage in a man-of-war, not to consider themselves as sailing ia 
p public conveyance; nor to assume such a deportment as may aulboriM 
a conclusion, that tlicy think themselves conferring a favour, rather than 
receiviug one. 1 would also humbly suggest, tbat to press upon the good- 
nature of the captain, even when it is obviously contrary to his incliwt- 
^od; to solicit a jiassago for one port, and being arrived, to require it 

I |br " auother, and auuther, aud another," is as indelicate as for any ooa 
'a come a mere stranger to your house, and, finding the quarters goo4i 
liere to set up his rest. The cases are perfectly similar ; aud it seenia 
B me to imply such a total want of proper fL-eling, as to render those, who 
J¥ thus deficient, objects of merited contempt. I cannot, for my par^ 
Wtnprehend the principle on wliit;h they act. A pursou is slij^btly intio- 
d to a captaiQ of u mau-of-war, in order to obtain a gratuitous pr«$i^ 
Q.ed and board. The coat ia wholly on the side of the command^ 
if he be not a man of independent fortune, he has to endure ■ tax 
n his income, which he can i)erhaps very hardly support. Brides 
., he is obliged to surrender his own comforts to the eucroachmeuts of 
is passengers, who, in many cases, think themselves entitled to the attjU- 
m which they would exact from the hired servant of a packct-boat>' 

* What I have here said, 1 wis h to be understood as a common feeuBg 
iQong the officers of a man-of-war ; and without meaDing lo imputa Ray 

_ hing further to particular individuals than inexperience and want of vuii- 
I jli^ratioD, it may he useful to fnturc voyagers, to understand in what light 
0icir presence is considered, and how tliey are expected to act. We havs, 
indeed, several distinguished exceptions to the method upon which 1 har^ 
nimadrerted ; but I am persuaded some comment is needed for the rest ; 
d 1 hope it will be taken in good part. , . 

' With regard to tiie ward-room passengers, a system somc^li^f dJR- 
}t is, for various reasons, adopted : but here too, I have seen more tb)|li 
e individual conduct himself as he would, where not only a full cqtuyt' 
_ HiX was paid, but where his superiority of rank authorized au uucercini)- 
L AioDs disposal of whatsoever he miglil desire. Siwli jiractices never itiH 
be' tolerated ,iu a man-of-war; ut least, not on a peace csl«d)ltsiinieut, 
wbcn tbe officers are generally mcu of fortune aud family. For the pre- 
sent Iqoit.lba subjwt; if. 1 should sec occasion, il sliall cerliunly be re- 
sumed.'— Vol. i. pp. 260—362. , ,', .,^ .,,,^ 
Here is a Christian divme ! who, perhaps, would have t^t ,ao 
difficulty after he wrote this ■()assag,e Vt\ ^iwv'*™*?. *■ discomsisof 
ifltieb doe text WouW be the parabk ot lUe ^ooi'SsMaaiiMaitV v " 



Swtm't Vayagt up tJu Mtdittrraiuam. 2d9 

' ^ Aa our author han set forlli, among the principal attractions of 
--' dm worii, the account of his visit to ue camp of Ibrahim Pacha, 
•~ die reader may, perhaps, feel some curiosity to know what hatf 
=^ beei detailed on this point. Mr. Swan, and several gentlemea 
^1 bam tfae Cambrian, having landed at Calamata, proceeded 
"* dirongh TripcJitza and by Mount Taygetus, where they, for the 
" fiist time, perceived traces of the Turkiat army. 

' We travelled throogh groves of olives and mulberries at the foot of 
H Homit Taygetm. After a while the country assumed the appearance of 
7* lieety arranged shrubberies, all the plants usually seen iu Boglish plea- 
'r mcrgronnds being found indigenous here : but, in foct, the pmapect was 
^ fc*Ter varying. 

^ 'Ifear the foot of a small river, or rather brook, lay an Arab soldier, 
' qtyaroitly dying from fatigue. We gave bim water and a little bread, 
" ud being unable to render any further assistance, left him to his Eate< 
AliovB the bin, of which the stream jnat spoken of formed the base, we 
' ' bond a village on fire, called Dakne, (Sir W. Gell calls it Daphne), aad 
"' 1 second fur&er on to the right, termed AUovesovan. Here we overtook 
'^ ibother Arab, bat- no persuasion could induce him to answer our ques- 
~ dons ; either fear or disease, probably both, rendered him pertinaciously 
^ dent. I sfty both, because a Redmontese physician at Tripolitza in- 
^' farmed ua, that the Arabs devoured such quantities of grapes and drank 
~ u maeh water as to bring on the dysentery, of which great numbers had 
^ fied. Not long after our encounter with the Arab, wc observed the naked 
' tarekse of a Greek, mangled in a most shocking manner by the vultures, 
r gf i^tuch nnmhers.were sailiog about our path. 

'. 'DeBcendihga steep hill called Ellade, which overlooks the plain.of 
Hcloa and the sea, including a distant view of Cerigo, we overtook some ' 
ringdera from the I^cha's army — the poorest wretches imaginable, all 
lhn$ iuid patches. On the plain half a dozen villages were smoking; 
fte' eofl&gration bad been spread in evny direction. A large flame 
trbto' out &om a plot of reeds as we passed ; and men were just ready to 
Wlf fr£sh Are to hedges formed of dry leaves. A little after we observed 
iBiIaq^ of the army moving to the left, and we immediately took a simi- 
lir'd|reption, supposing it the main body of Ibrahim's troops. It proved, 
^'Utix','\6 be a detachment under the command of Uusseim Pacha. As 
n iidtanced several heavy guns were fired, and presently several mules, 
bearing a number of dead and wounded, attended by a guard of soldiers, 
iptirottched UB. We took our station on a rising ground, which com- 
minded tfae Sea and the troops of the Facha moving along the brow of an 
eminence in front. The firing still continued, and several dead men, 
botiiid u^on the bacivs of mules, passedclose to ns. At the satne moment, 
& boll which appeared to have sealed the surface of the post efaoien by 
the Egyptian troops, fell within forty or fifty yftrda from our party. They 
nowfoTited into a square, and moved a small distan^ie ftam the side of 
tde height, so as to have the ridge between them aild the eDemy> and then 
Uipearad to be retreating. We could perceive a nHstieo lying at anchor 
aoak^totiaiahore, Juepiug up a brisk fii«-, there were, a.\Ui%&W|fia&«i«. 
wm A 4lkidbargfa-ol ataaqaetry from men whohadUa^*^ T'b&t^HTR.^- 
. <f tbe nhtr was to take jwssession of two 8iaa\\ casAoa, ca^ cnsM^- 



Sv.'an's Voyage up ths Mediterranean. 



T 



I 



■Dg a garrison of two butidrod and (iTty soIiIierB.'* A body of men 
were now leiaarely passing us on their return, we obtained as a gaaid. 
Ttiey were ori^mzcd Arab^i, and their captain carried a thick stick in bit 
kand to drire tbem forward ; this be applieil witb apparent good will tit 
flie abtiulders of any Ktraggler.s froto the company. When we reached Ibt 
luain cwnp, which might be four miles from the place of actiou, such ■ 
sciine uf confiision displayed itself as I had nerer before witnessed. Mi> ;-= 
serable- looking beings were every where stretched apon the ground, op- , 
pressed by extreme fatigue, while the whole character of what passed re- - 
minded me of nothing so much as the turbulence, without the merriment, jm 
of Bu English fair. There was but one teut in the plain, aud thus Ihtit , , 
ragged, wretched bodies were exposed to the burning heats of noon, ev I , 
cepl iu cases where olive-trees supplied a shade : but the greater partj t 
the army were entirely deprived of such protection. The most fortimats 
Imd stationed Ihomselves on the banlcs of a beautiful river or slreftfli p 
(the Enrotas) which was full of excellent water, and as clear as erystili i 
broad, but ahallow.'— Vol. ii. pp. 233—237. ^ 

The party were shown by an Arab guard into a cottage, where C 
they found Ibrahim Pacha, ' pipe in hand,' reclining ou a i 
couch. t. 

* He is a stout, broad, bronvo-faced, vulgar- looking man, thirfy-five 01 - 
forty years of age, marked strougly witb the small pox. His cooutcDBDU 
possesses little to engage, but when be speaks, which he does with cossi* 
dert^Ie energy and fluency, it becomes animated and rather striking. Hi ' 
frequently accompanies his words witli a long drawling cry, which td '- 
European ears sounds ridiculous enough. His manner carries with it that '- 
sort of decision which is, perbapa, the common appanage of deapotism : ' 
deprived of this he would resemblo an nncducated, liard -favoured scsnun '^ 
of our own country — and, 1 think, I have somewhere seen tis exact ama- ''. 
lerpart — but it may be merely fancy. He was plainly clothed for a Tnriti a 
and his camp establishment oltogetbcr bad none of that parade snd ^ 
luxury which we are accustomed to attach to taateru warfare.' — Vnl. Qi ■ 
pp. 237, 238. . ," 

The following exposition of his intentions with respect to lie 
Morea seems to have been given with the most perfect siin 
ceritj'. 

' Speaking of the Morea, ahhough he regretted the necessity of Us 
present proceedings, yet it was his intention to pursue them to the ati 
most. He would burn and destroy the whole Morea : so that it shouU 
neither be pro6tab!e to the (jireeks nor to him, nor to any one. V^hst 
would these infatuated men, the dupes of their own imbecile governmenti 
do for provisions iu the winter 1 He knew that his own soldiers would 
also Buffiar-T-that they too must perish. But hia father Mehemet Aliwai 
traiuing fwlji thousaad mea, and be was in daily expectation of si riu- 
forcement »f twelve Uiousand, If tjieeo were ont off he would hav« more; 
and bo would persevere tilt the Greeks relurnod to their former state. 

* ' The conntrj where they are situtited is cB.\\cdlTmese. W\a-BQ\.fK 
from JUarathonisi, in the iralf of that uame. ciVtei a.\%a ColocWsvaw "-■- 



Swan's Voyage up tks Miditerranean. 271 

Oj\e of the castles on the plain^ be ssid^ had just been carried by assanlti 
tad the, garrison all put to the sword; the other was expected to fall 
Lmmediately. He repeated, '* I will not cease till the Morea be a ruin." 
rhe sultan has already conferred upon him the title and insignia of 
Pacha of this unhappy land; "and" said his highness, "if the good 
people of England who are so fond of sending money to the Greeks would 
lend it directly to me it would save them considerable trouble ; eventu- 
illy it all comes to my treasury. I have taken heaps of purses from tha 
Qieelf: soldiery filled with English sovereigns." ' — ^Voh iL pp. 240, 241. 

On aDotha: occasion he observed, 

' ** The best thing for the Greeks/' continued the despot, " would be 
In unconditional surrender. Let them return to their former condition. 
IToa know the extent of the population in Egypt : I will gain my object 
at whatever sacrifice ; and I hope that a good God will enable me to da 

' Janetta, our guide, imagined that a relative of his-— a lad, was a pri* 
■oner in the camp of the Turks ; and he entreated us to procure his re- 
leaae. Accordingly, the request was made. Ibrahim laughed; ''OhP' 
said he, " the boy has turned Turk ; and I have sent him along with 
three hundred other Greek lads to a military school, which I have esta< 
hlished at Cairo." '—Vol. ii. p. 245. 

We prestune that, after these declarations, there can be no longer 
stay'doubt entertained of the intentions of Mehemet Ali, and his 
good sob^ with respect to Greece. It would be a striking event if, 
m thti oirder of Providence, these two warriors should be suffered 
to irestoie flie Turkish power to its former vigour in Europe, at an 
epoch ,i^lien it was actually tottering on the verge of destruction. 

IJer^.^Mr. Swan closes nis journal for the present. If he means 
to continue it, we trust that he will exchange his propensity to 
Aodomontade for a small portion of common sense. Had we been 
imposed to treat him with severity, we might have extracted many 
specimens of his composition that would do no honour to the uni- 
^endty of which he was lately a member. He has given, in an 
appendbc, a translation of an essay on the Fanariotes, written in 
French'by Mark Philip Zallony, a Greek, and published at Mar- 
seilles in the year 1824. It is a work of very considerable interest, 
ind is J drawn up with miich ability. The Fanariotes compose a 
dtiss 6t "Oreefes oelonging to the ritual of the eastern church, and 
*'^-'*ixe"so caQed .from Fanar, the quarter of Constantinople 
Jh^ pilxicip^y occupy. In consequence of the law which 
1 9^1^k to learn any of the languages in use among those 
ir)^^;49.iK)»i,h»di^e in the Alcoran, the Fanariotes were originally 
enifJoj^.aA tianslators^ next as drogomans, or interpietjers, to the 
divaon'^iid^ In^ moifeiti times, they have had imfficieht inftuende to 
oteam tfaeidtegerous honour of being appointed hospodars of Mol 
davia and Walachia. The massacre of the GTee\c5 ^X. CoxisXssiJar- 
noj^e^ in 1822, gave a heavy blow to the power ot ike 1BaaaAviVe^> 
ImJt m lUit considered bm yet wholly subdued. "We \eeotHSXiKcA 
dm essay to the attention of the reader. 



S7a 



JIT. V. The Contest of the Twelve Nalims ,- or, a f^itnc of tieil^' 
t Bates of Hvman C/iaracier and Tnieni. 8vo. pp. 628. IB*, 
'Eiinbiirgh. Oliver and Boyd. 1826. 

\itt would be the easiest thing in the n'orld to exhibit this x^olume, 

I'fend iu anonymuus author, for unqualified ridicule and general 

; for the book is in many respects the most whimsical and 

ravagant composition which it has ever fallen under our voca- 

to nodce ; broatthing the wildest and most unsubstantial 

ibeories with the same confident surety as if they were demon- 

^lArable for mathematical truths ; placing facts and errors in can- 

i •tant communion ; and mingling gratuitous hj-pothesis and crude 

I Speculation, fair premises and false conclusions, plausible argument 

I qnd monstrous deduction, in ludicrous concision and ' admired dis- 

I (wder.' But, notwithstanding all the weak and ridiculous points ot 

f flie book, we shall carefully abstain from treating it merely as a 

I ^itfid source of the burlesque. We happen to be fully aiive \q 

I Ae real curioMty of the author's subject ; and we shall not reader 

t ft so much prejudice as to convert it into a jest, merely because he 

'iBs unconsciously caricatured its oiitlines and travestied its form. 

The physiology of human character may really be numbered 

I V among not tlie least interesting dcpartmentii of metaphysical 

[ ycience. Enquiries into the natural causes of the diversity of cha-< 

icter in the human race, if rationally conducted, would not de- 

rve to he regarded either with contemjjt or neglect ; and in fiict 

V subjects of intellectual speculation would possess greater atlrac- 

n for a reflecting mind. The attempt to trace the causes of 

iBtional character, to examine whence its diversities proceed, snd 

D determine, through historical examples and comparistms, hov 

r these are produced and influenced by distinctions in race;, iit 

mate, in the prevailing occupations of industry, in govemawnt, 

Vlimd in other political institutions— all this must be full of curioeit; 

" and interest, and would probably develope many incidental and 

'Collateral facts of the very highest importance, though the reaalb 

I of the enquiry would scarcely be reducible into a tixed and ua- 

t ening system of judgment. But this whole subject of the phyw- 

L ology of human character is still in its earliest infancv. Boa ttiBJ' 

3 date its origin as a study from oui own times. The diapoti- 

1 to pursue so cmious an investigation should be freely encaD> 

^ed; not only facts discovered, but also the enors which are 

rought to the surface in the agitation of enquiry, may have dieir 

ality ; and we should desire to direct serious public attention ercn 

b such fanciful productions as the volume before us, were U only 

rom the conviction, that the discussion of the vainest and aatt 

erroneoos theories on such a topic must necessarily elicit -«me 

scititillatians of truth. , ' ,, 

Yet it must be confessed, that it is not always easy to treatdu 

tHJUCaits of the prea^t work wil\\ gra\iv^^", wav \o xci^isx ikiK^ 



"« 



r 



Tk« Contest of the Twelve Nattoru. 



^ Tcking invitation to ridicule which is offered by its numerous ab- 
W surdities. For what shall be thought of a system which would 
I prove Horace a Spartan, and Mr. Irvine the preacher a Cartha- 
* giaian; Anacreon an Englishmau, and Mr. Rogers a Greek; Cer- 
h vantes an Irishman, and Solon a Scotchman ; Homer, Virgil, and 
m Byron to be Germans, and Shakspeare, Hume, and Mr. Moore all 
K Egyptians; Cromwell and Gibbon — * Arcades ambo' — Arcadians; 
f • Dr. Johnson a Frenchman ; Hogarth a Spaniard ; and, finally, the 
to Devil and Cain 'favourable specimens' of the Irish disposition? 
fc Or how shall we seriously incline our attention to a metaphysical 
p> work, which with becoming solemnity proposes the different species 
t« of the animal kingdom for ' natural types' of the varieties of 
pa homati character? For here vie discover ihat the stag, the bum- 
^! Dung-lard, and the puma or American tiger, are all types of the 
m Carthaginian or Irisn character ; the wild boar of the Scotch ; the 
r J liippopotamos of the Greek ; the rhinoceros, the owl, the ostrich, 
|f and the ape, of the French ; the bear, the ram, and the Bengal 
jr^ ^er, of the German ; the elephant and the hare of the Etruscan ; 
^' the ox of the Roman ; and the ass of the Egyptian. ' The Celt' 
^ (under which division our philosopher has principally the Scotch 
k character in contemplation) ' is like the wild boar, snuffing over 
M flie worldly objects wnich are presented to his senses, and asking 
f« what is the use of them, or whether they can be eaten, or drunk, 
p or slept npon, or in any way made to become a part of the con- 
ks miner.' In another point of^ view, by the way, our author, who 
|i WMdd appear from the birdi-plaee of his lucubrations to be him- 
te lelf a Scot, gives rather an alarming picture of the characteristic: 
iM tendencies and domestic condilidn of his nnbappy race. ' Under 
Efc Meh 3 system, hen-pecked or governed hu.sbands are frequent. 
K. The women grow robust, and are strongly marked in their fea- 
m 'ma; their voice falls with ease into the tenor pitch; they reason 
m 'n every subject with dry good sense, and can scarcely refiain 
^ ftom using inte^ectional oaths in conversation. They begin to 
te "ew hats of the same form as those worn by the men.' An awful 
^ spfiroximatkifn ! in which we marvel that the philosopher has not 
h dieicovered a ' natural type' of their disposition to appropriate 
■p uUo themselves another article of masculine attire. We English- 
^ men Ihre in a dangerons propinquity. Henceforth let no mair 
t Tmaj beyonrl the border ; and still less let him venture among our 
H *e*tem neighbours, after be has learnt the foUowing propensity of 
m tbeijifoemian or Carthaginian character : — 

P 'OnB uniform characteristic of the Carthagiiiuin natnre is the desire 

H ta itsntt in new aiid different relations to the same object which we have 

■ linHAf ksown in other circum stances. Thus the African may be grati- 

■ W With the speedy change from pursuing the living animal to possess- 
H ing ita deitd carcasa ; and from seeing the carcass wliole Vq cnX^Xa^ \\,~'n\\A 
I fHts. Such treatmeot is tbe most opposite to w\va.t. iVve uvuraX \iw^& 



tU The Contest of the Twelve Natu 

make the difTprenoc. I\]rhat>s some intellt>ctaal iDotive of (I 
be iaTolvcd iu canDibalism, whirb in knowu to be not alwa 
lor want of profiaions, nor, aa Some have supposed, for ttu 
of humaa flcsb, The savage whu eats the same person ti 
short time before he bad been accustomed to meet in battle} 
change blows, becomes acqaainted with his man under entie 
circumstances, or perhajis enjoys the pleasure of eiperiencii 
activity which once existed in him is entirely extinguished an 

' It is suspected that cannihalism still exists among the Afri 
and by some travellers it was formerly asserted, that, in cc 
the flesh of men was publicly sold in the shambles, with J 
animals. Cannibalism, so far from giving men a gloomy s 
aspect, may rather commanicate a peculiar mildness to the i 
accompanied with that luscious sort of smile o^en found amd 
—p. 39. 

And why was Daniel Be Foe an Irishman ? He be 
self (p. 76) by ' the interest which he takes in cannibuj 
the author of Robinaon Crasoe had doubtless the pecuU 
of aspert and the true ' luscious smile' of anthropopha 
heads do grow beneath their shoulders." 

But to proceed with our philosopher's types. Thf 
symbol of Gernaan character, because it ' expresaes t] 
fluxions in taking a long run to accumulate momentu 

tmrpose of giving a more powerful stroke. To the Go 
ect may be asLiibed the sense of accumulation, Sic. . . j 
the course of the ram accumulation is expressed, not ii 
through a certain distance, but in the forces successivE 
from the new strokes of its feet on the ground at eacl 
abo the great striped tiger of Bengal is a type of ^ 
character, because ' this animal, by the suddenness q 
and its wild and haggard appearance, seems to exprea 
trary power of selection, circulation, distribution, or | 
which, leaving out what is intermediate, brings remc 
gether!' For the French character, we have some 
priate symbols: tlie ostrich— for it has extraordinary; 
digestion — and the Frenchman, as all the world knc 
excellence a cooking animal ; and the ape, because 'li? 
all the trees of tlie forest, it partakes of synthetical tra^ 
in transferring itself from bough to bough it may be co 
pursuing new combinations. It appears as if chased I: 
terious and solemn nature of morahty.' A goodly raa 
the motto of the Frenchman is still " sauve qui pent* 
dimax of the ridiculous is to be found in the followir 
which is quite characteristic of the author's mind, and 
of his book. 

' If among the animals we look for a type of courage, we 
biy for some time wander about penpVexBd. IVU iie fix on b 
~ Ha cfcaracteriatic is to sns^iend VtaeK Sn " toifertit^ 



Tke Contest of the Twelve Nations. T7S 

flHe,ly the continoed action of its wings ; so that it does not flit abouC 
fib otkr birds, but remains stationary, producing a humming sound. 
TUiicom^nds with the nature of courage and systematic uMlj since, 
in itrokfls of its wings, physical exertion must be regulated according to 
met proportion, to enable it to retain its position ia Ihe air unchanged. 
Ihenioeat dqprees of force must be observed. Covered v^th the brilliant 
hei of praise, this minute and exquisite bird seems to rejoice in main- 

- tniDg itself in the post of honour. A recent traveller has estimated the 

- wietiefl of the humnung-bird species at about an hundred ; in which there 
m to be found all intermediate grades of size ; the largest kind, which is 
oDcdtbe blue-throated Mexican, being about five times as big as the 

- MaSest, which is less than a bee. The humming sound belongs to its 
~ wisp; tbe note which it utters from its pipe is simple, small, and delicate. 

- ii Meorate survey and estimate of characteristic qualities and powers, 
kvBver, will teach us to associate this animal with the gigantic moose- 
te and the powerful vulture.* — ^pp. 63, 54. 

^ Hie author declares his purpose in the outset, ' to show that there 
o nnotroom in rerum natura for more than twelve generic charac- 
toSy easentially different from each other ; and that to some one or 
^'^rf die twelve departments every nation and every individual 
■B«t be capable of being referred, in the same manner that in 
utoral history each animal can be traced to some known order, in 
oK destructive qualities of which it participates.' He therefore 
poceeds to account for and to arrange all the varieties of human 
tteDecty disposition, and ta^es, under twelve classes^ to which he 
11^ the names of the foUowing nations : — 

'I Tbe Carthaginian or Irish — II. The Celtic, or Scotch, or Scythian-— 
ID* Tbe Ej^tian, Chinese, or Swiss — IV. The English or Corinthian*^ 
T- Xtie Greek or Venetian— VI. The German or Hindoo— VII. The Ro- 

m 

■tt or Italian — ^VIII. The Arcadian, or Persian, or Scotch Lowland — 
K The Etruscan — ^X. The Spanish or Arabian — ^XI. The French or- 
^UieaiaB—- XIL The Spartan, or Russian, or Swedish.' 

Having confined all the compounded modifications of human 
ttture within these twelve classes, our author proceeds in like 
Banner to limit the elements of character in each class to twelve 
Rialities or properties. That is, he considers that each generic 
karacter can only be viewed in relation to three primary faculties, 
RTELLECT, WiLL or DISPOSITION, and Taste ; and that each 
r these again operates under four dLBTerent forms. Thus, 

' Ist. Intellect has application to the Sciences^ to Observation, to 
)f9tem,. and to Sensuaiity, or the desire of gratifying sensation. 2dly. 
Till, ot Disposition, appears in Ijove, Industry , Courage, and Morality. 
fly. Taste, or the sense of beauty, is shown in relation to Religion, 
mtU 1#(^, Ambition, and Poetical Genius. 

Having laid down these land-marks for the physiology of cha- 
tter, our author, who is himself evidently a phienAoCTSi, Ceer- 
Bveift that tiie systems ofGaJl and Spurzheim, aiter a "Name ^tx^xv- 
^and enbiging^ may be made to fit exactly, aaA lo\i«rBvoxaafc 



374« Contest of the Twelve Natio 



1 

id Smirz- I" 



idmirably, with his own. ' The systems of Drs. Gal! and Spurz- 

jeim,' he observes, ' have frequency been' ridiculed, as extending j 

^e number of mental powers beyond all rational bonnds, and 

flitting human nature as it were into a motley assemblage of in- I^ 

')ongruous parts, amounting to no leas than thirty- three.' Bui r 

or author undertakes to showj that this multiplicity is not neailj r 

> great as it appears, nor verily quite so great as it ought to be, f 

't that ' the system would, if completed, comprehend thirty-sii F 

alties, which would be resolvable into twelve triads, each con- ,* 

; of — I. an intellectual power; II. a sentiment; HI. an in-' 

_- ; the three faculties in each kind being supposed to spiiog P 

a one root, and to be connected with each other by the closal f 

alogy or similarity of nature. Now in each national characta f^ 

' separate kind of men, ^me one of these triads is supposed to P 

Bittedominatc, and to have tlie ascendancy over all the otner facul- [" 

!, so as to give a tone to the whole mind, and produce a decided i^ 

s in the character and talents.' ( ' 

Thus we find that, as there are just twelve, and no more, div«- f - 

pties of human character, so there are just twelve, neither less nor ^ 

^ore, triads of faculties developed in the configuration of the \^ 

^aman ^ull ; and that, an there are three primary divisions is i* 

ach character, viz. intellect, will, and taste, so also there are three •- 

eGponding organs developed in each triad, viz. an intellectual > 

lower, a sentiment, and an instinct. Here, then, triumphantly '^ 

acclaims our philosopher, we are enabled to free GaD and Spun:- ' : 

leim from the reproach of having multipUed the original faculliea " ■ 

mof human nature beyond all reasonable limits. Their number is ■'. 

■at least thirty-six, and Messrs. Gall and Spurzheim may deem '■ 

themselves henceforth proportionately indebted to this new'dii- 1 

S>very for the preservation of their fame. Whether, indeed, eacll .. 

TO these thirty-six organs is not again subdivided into four, like lie "V 

t*primary qualities of character, our author omits to tell us : but 8 »i 

Dpograplucal map of the skull might have shown them all in due <. 

Jlocation, like the townships, sections, and quarter sections, inio '< 

rhich American surveyors are wont to distribute the imcleared \- 

Jwilderness. And thus our lover of order might have found reason i^ 

divide his head, like his physiolo^cal system and his book, into ^ 

ne hundred and forty-four compartments, the only difficulty being "t 

3 the law required by his plan, ' that no compartment should be ^j 

Reft void.' , i-i 

■ This precious framework of a system for determining the phj" ' 

^fiology of human character having been thus laid out, our authw (a 

*l>etaKea himself to the filling up of its compartments. He Krt- i 

tnines each of his twelve generic characters in relation to each of *_ 

'Iiis twelve all-comprehensive qualities; and it is by these comls-^i, 

nations that the compartments of his treatise reach the maximaS «= 

of the multipUcation table ; being m HaaitcT twelve times twelWiN 

or one handred and fortv-fom. ^Rpm,tt> wgtegX,"«faft .« 



7%€ Contest of the Twelve Nations. 277 

the Irish, for example, which stands first on his list : he commences 
a short introductory chapter with the remark that, * The study 
either of the real world, or of ideal possibilities, will teach us that 
there exists a certain adventurous character,' &c., which he then 
distinguishes as belonging to the Carthaginians and the Irish, and 
refers to its natural type in the animal kingdom. Having defined 
the character, he proceeds to try it in its relation : firsdy, to In- 
tellect, and under this head to Science, Observation, System, 
and Sensuality ; secondly, to Disposition, and under this head 
to Love, Industry, Courage, and Morality ; and thirdly, to Taste, 
and under this head to Religion, Social Life, Ambition, and 
Poetical Genitu. These inquiries occupy three chapters with each 
of its subdivisions of four sections ; and under everv head it would 
appear that the author (though his object is not very clear) designs 
to discover and to exhibit the different phases under which the 
fixed qualities display themselves in each variety of generic cha- 
racter. The investigation of every character is closed by a general 
estimate or recapitulation of its peculiarities ; and at the end of 
the volume itself we have an inversion of such inquiries, or rules 
for ascertaining the national character of any individual by the 
criterion of his qualities. 

Of our author's plan it is only necessary to observe further, that 
it professes to work by historical and biographical illustration and 
proof, and that several celebrated individuate are selected as ex- 
amples of each character. But our philosopher, in desiring to 
illustrate any eeneric character, is by no means particular, as we 
have already shown, in what quarter to seek his examples. He 
caUs Mahomet and Milton equally Arcadians, or equally Irishmen, 
as it soits him to class them under the same head ; and he declares 
that it is quite an error * to suppose that the distinguished men born 
in a country are uniformly of the nature which is most commcm in 
that country. On the contrary diey often appear to have been 
dropt by chance upon a soil foreign to themselves.' In this man- 
ner it is wonderfully shown that almost all the celebrated men 
which each country has produced do not belong to the character 
of their nation, but ought to have been bom elsewhere, and should 
be classed under some other head. 

Such then are the outlines of our philosopher's system ; and our 
~ analysis may convey to the reader a sufficient idea of the 
general contents of his volume. In forming an estimate of their 
value, it is, in the first place, obvious to common sense, that his 
cla8sificati<»i of the diversities of human character is altogether 
arfaitrarv and fanciful. Why are the varieties exactly twelve, and 
iipofi wnat principles has he arranged them under the distinctions 
wnich he has given ? All this he has entirely avoided to explain. 
He :b9S ill the outset, indeed, dogmatically asserted, that ' there ^ 
^ not tobm-in rerum natura for more than twelve genetie ^^^x^oXers* 
j mwtiaiBiy.diBeFeDt 6vm each other ;' and to show WiV& ^w^rgfose^ 



•-STS The Conttat of tht Tmlve Nationt. 

fact b declared to be the purpose of his work. Bui he would ap- H 

pear in the sequel to have entirely overlooked this promised object, i>. 

for there is not the shadow of a proof subsequently adduced to . 

maintain his position. ;- 

Nor is it easy to conjecture upon what foundation his arraDge- i 

nient is really intended lo be built. We can only conclude ne- - 

gatively which of the usual hypotheses on the subject he has di>- - 

carded. It is clear that he does not believe in the influence of t- 

race or blood, since he observes (p. 367) that 'the study of the i 

origins of the tribes and nations may at first sight appear capable ._ 

of throwing light on the more permanent diversities of national i 

character, hut this is an erroReous supposition.' So also he mm = 

reject the influence of climate, since he would trace the existence — 

ot the same character in the Carthnginiana and the Irish, in tlu — 

Corinthians and the English, in the Egyptians and the Swiss, in r. 

the Hindoos and the Germans, in [the Persians and the SctHch i 

Lowlanders, in the Spartan and the Russian. Again, all tfaoe «= 

itamples may show that he can attribute no influence to the mv i 

ifications of government, political institutions, religion, or any of • _ 

itie endless differences in the stale of civil communities. For what 

' can be more opposite tlian the constitution of society among all '« 

the several pairs of natitms here adduced as displaj-ing precisely a 

the same generic character? Neither, phrenologist though he be, 

has he even any where attempted to prove a similar developeraent - 

Lfof the organs of the skull in the people whose character be has .- 

^^osen to identity. 

• ■ Here then, at a single blow, the most unskilful reasoner, «ho — 
_.$ouId use the author's own weapons, might knock his system tD _ 
rj^ms. If the physiology of human charaler is dependent ndtho 
"U>on race — nor climate — nor civil and religious institutions — B« ^ 
IDysical construction — nor upon any intelligible combination of -^ 
se accidents, nimn what then shall it depend? The author's ,_; 
ssification has no better ground to stand upon than his ovn « 
r fapricious and fantastical imagination, and it might seem almost i m- 
[ ^raste of words to refiite it by elaborate argiunent, 
\ ^_, If the author had taken for the groundwork of his plan tJ» _ 
^x»nsi deration of the varieties of the humaii species, and examinol ^ 
'*\G dependence of human character upon race, variously modified ^ 
f the conditions of civilisation, his proceeding would at Icsisthavc ^ 
_ ^5en consistent and intelligible. And he certainly need not have ^ 

tinted some very grave reasons for adopting it. Take only the ^ 
miliar example of the Gypsies and the Jews, and observe the 
Vimarked pecuharities of character which separate these two people _ 
f fiom all others. Spread over Europe and over the world, yet ton- « 
fined by their way of life, their choice, and the dislike of the nation* ^ 
among whom they dwell, to marriages in their own tribes, thtse _ 
two races have respectively preserved (and especially the latter) » . 



. STAe CoHiest of the Twelve Ifationir ^79 

mstaken. Or brin^ tl^e illustration within the circlti of pur own 
domestic lives ; and can any man doubt^ in his own kindred and 
in his several acquaintances^ the existence of an hereditary and 
distinctive family character ? This indeed is more or less strongly 
.marked in individuals : it is modified and influenced by education, 
profession, and vicissitudes of fortune, and partially smothered and 
distorted by a thousand accidents of life ; yet it almost al>vay$ 
betrays. itself in some common featiue of mind, as in some general 
resemblance of cououenance. 

But our author does not appear to have at all considered his 
3ubject in this relation to race ; nor does his book even display the 
slightest acquaintance with previous researches intx) this part of its 
philosophy. Thas, for example, he would seem to know nothing 
of the very plausible attempt of Blumenbach, which almost aU 
later physiologists have adopted, to distribute mankind, into five 
great varieties of the species: — the Caucasian, Mongolian, 
J&tUopian, American, and Malay. Nor has he in general laid any 
stress upon the more recent and certain derivation qt various rations 
from a common stock ; and where he has (in direct contradiction 
to bis theory at p. 367, already quoted) partially attempted to trace 
the influence of this descent, his success has been so indifierent as 
merely to betray his ignorance, and to leave us no. room for regret 
that the inquiry has been spared from his farther interference. 
. The great error of this author has been that he would create a 
system at all hazards ; and having once resolved on the work, he 
has striven, probably without being conscious of it, to bend and 
distort every material to furnish its proportions. Hence, like alj 
system-mongers, and especially in speculative questions, he has run 
into a thousand absolute contradictions and absurd mistakes ; and 
accordinglv he has produced only a ponderous tome of error, where 
he might have amused the world by a lively and really curious 
inquiry into the causes of the varieties in national character.. 

Our notions of what such a little essav should offer, will be ex- 
plained in a very few words. We have expressed our doubt whe- 
ther the rational investigation of the subject would ever lead to 
universal and systematic conclusions ; it might, however, be an 
object to collect as many facts as possible, to arrange, and to class 
them. But then, whatever could be effected with certainty, must 
lie accomplished by induction alone. Why is this a truth which 
fl^ch speculators as the writer before us can never be made to com- 
p|)diend ? By induction, if by any method, we shall safely convert 
&cts into conclvisions ; and where, in speculative questions^ this 
^tem of philosophizing fails us, we may he assured that ,we are 
{^roping in the dark. 

jf.we .designed an inquiry into tJbie physiology of human dba^ 
Cfu^tei^ ure should commence by examining the mfluence of race, 
a^ should b^ conteinted with ascending to a peivod.(^x\^\^\sx^\& 
thaa that which is implied in the primary c\9^\&ca>L\oxL ^S. ^^iv^r 



280 Mri. Radcliffe's Posthumout Workt. 

menbach, in order that we might in the same proportion recd?e 
more certain assistance from Lislorj-. We should also desire to 
apply our investigation to a much greater variety of races than he 
has enumerated, by taking the subaivisions at later periods of their 
branching off from the wiginal stock : for we are convinced that 
the modifications of national character are far greater than five» 
or even twelve. Having studied the division of races, and endea- 
voured to classify them under their modem aspects, we should next 
apply ourselves to discover the similar and opposite effects whidi 
climate, mixture with other races, institutions, and various acd- 
dents of position, moral and geographicat, have had upon each. 
Where these effects shoidd be found generally lo coincide, the 
result would be highly interesting, and bring us near to determine 
some of the laws by which the formation of national character ia 
regulated. For, that national character does exist as a distinction 
of one set of men from another, we suppose no person will doubt; 
and that the laws of the moral world are no more guided by ca- 
pricious accident, than the operations of nature, will equally be 
admitted for undeniable truth. 

Such comparisons as we have proposed with relation to race, 
descent, climate, position, historical fortune, and present condition 
in various nations, would ofier a fund of most interesting studv; 
it would demand the exertion of much historica] research, and tte 
application of reflection and judgment ; and, even if it should fail 
to establish conclusions as positive as might be desirable on the 
causes of diversity in national character, the investigation would 
still equally be pregnant with instruction and interest to the general 
student, the moralist, and the statesman. 



Abt. VI. Gaaton de Bhndeville ; or. The Court of Henry III. i 
ing Fesiimlin Ardeane I a Romance. St.Alban'a Jlbbey, aMelA 
Tale ; with some Poetical Pieces. By Auue Radcliffe. To whi^ 
prefixed a Memoir of the Author, with (^tracts from her Jour 
4 Vols., 8vo. 1/. 18*. London. Colburu. 1826. 

It seems now to be pretty generally admitted that authors, vilH 
their life-time attracted more than an ordinary share of admiratj 
should be considered as licensed to accumulate their inferior t 
ductions for the purposes of posthumous fame. Friends may | 
soothe the poignancy of grief, and gratify the ardour of affeod 
by preserving those gleanings of the mental harvest, and by^fl 
senting them to the world, accompanied by highly-coloured j 
gyrics upon departed genius. The pubhc are expected to lent! 
least, an indulgent attention to the accents of a voice which i»u 
likely lo be heard again, and speaks to us, as it were, from thft ■■ 
grave; and the critic is rebuked if, in the exercise of his severer 
a^ce, lie forgeta whst is due to pnvate i««^%, v»^ iiaAQ»4£ 'its. 



Mrs. Radcliffe^s Posthumous Works. 28 1 

literary bequests of the dead, by the same standard which he wouM 
apply to the works of the living. 

We musty nevertheless, take the liberty to say, that if the an^ 
th^itidty of the posthumous writings now before us had not been 
placed beyond all doubt, we should have hesitated to believe that 
they hadproceeded from the author of " The Mysteries of Udol- 
pho/' Thev consist of some extracts ftem her journals, of a ro- 
mance which occupies a volume and a half, and a metrical tale, 
toffether with a multitude of minor poems, which fill up nearly two 
volumes ; and though we do not deny that amongst these various 
compositions some traces may be discovered of tnat imagination, 
which wrought such wondrous charms amid the Pyrennees and 
Appenines, yet we fearlessly pronounce them, on the whole, as im- 
worthy of the source fix)m which they sprung, and rather an injury 
than a monument to the memory of Mrs. Radcliffe. 

The memoir of her life and writings, which was vmtten, we un- 
derstand, by a barrister of great promise in his profession, is the 
most valuable portion of the pubUcation. It briefly sums up the 
incidents of her quiet, happy, and secluded life ; and, like all such 

Sieces of biography, is mimed in a strain of unvarying euloj^. 
fr. Radcliffe provided the materials, and, from motives of deli- 
cacy, which are perfectly excusable, he, of course, exhibited only 
those general* traits which might lead posterity to forth the most 
favourable opinion of her character. In all the great essentials of 
life we believe it to be spotless. Mrs. Radclifle appears to have 
been an attentive wife, a strict economist in her household affairs, 
and contented with those refined enjoyments of the mind which 
rendered her independent of society. Not having been blessed 
with a family she wanted those natural impulses which open the 
heart of a parent, and connect her, through ner offspring, vrith the 
Kving interests of the community at large. Some of her peculia- 
rities are very slightly glanced at. But itis not difficult to see that 
after she won the proud steeps of fame, it became her principal 
study to preserve herself from the most remote admission of rival- 
ship. We are told that she disdained to be looked upon even as a 
successful author, but we are also told that unsolicited and genuine 
Maise of her writings afforded her pleasure to her latest hour. 
There is no mode of reconciling these inconsistencies, unless we 
suppose that Mrs. Radcliffe exacted a greater degree of homage 
than sh^ ootdd expect to find in the eveiy-d&y intercourse of the 
woild, and that she found it only in fame which reached her frbm 
a distance* She wrapped herself up in that mystery of authorship 
which^ in her early days, was much more feared and respected 
than in these intelligent and busding times, when the most accom- 
plidied minds find no inconvenience in mingling the enjoyments of 
the wovid with those of literature, and the most sincere oim^lvi^^ 
and benevolence of character with talents of tiae \ii^e»\. ot^l^^t* 
Tbei^ h oae part of Mrs. Radcliffe's life upon yiYdck ^e ^oxi.^ 



Jtfr*. Radcliff'-a Pottku 



! Worit. 



H>ve abstained (ruin uffermg a aiagle remark, if a. passage io the 
(leinoir had not made it incumbent on us to say a word or two iu 
r own vinditation. In a former number of this journal,* after 
lUitine out an error as to a dale in Sir Walter Scott's memoir of 
I lady, we stated, from authority upon which we had every Te&- 
1 to rely, that " she died in a stale of mental desolation nut to 
B described." Jt was no part of our object to wound the feelings 
jf any of her surviving friends, particularly not of Mr. Hadclifie, 
tt whom we entertain great respect. But the fact formed a pan 
I the bterary liistory of the country, and, if our information were 
:t, we saw no reason why it should be suppressed. Jn'ot con- 
^t, however, with deming its tnilh, Mr. Radeliffe, or some per- 
1 by tis authority, charged us, in the public prints, with impro- 
|iety in making such a statement, and that charge is repeated in 
■document drawn up and signed by Dr. Scudamore, and insp^ 
: the memoir now bel'orc us. That we may not be accused of 
|rblins it we shall here present the whole of that document m 
B reacler. 
" Mrs. RadclilTe had been for several years subject to severe caturkil 

ind also was occasioually iifflictod witb asthma. 
" In March, 1 822, she was ill with iuflaiomatiun of the lungB, and &r 
K considerable time remaiueil taach indisposed. With the suminer qeai^fl 
chauge of air, she rcgaiued a. toh^rable atiitc of health. 
" lu the early part of January, 1823, iu consequence of ezpOBorett 
td, she was again attacked with iuflummatiun of the lungs, and maeh 
'e severely than before. Active treatment was immediately adopted, but 
4thout the desired relief; aud the symptoms soon assumed a most dsn- 
s character. At the end of three weeks, however, aod contrar; to 
B expectation, the inflammation of the lungs was overcome ; and the 
Ifiendment was so decided, as to present a slight prospect of recovery. 
' " Alas ! our hopes were soon disappointed. Suddenly, in the rerj 
'^aoment of seeming calm from the previons violence of disease, a new in- 
flammatton seized the mcmbraues of the brain. The cufeebled frame conli 
not. resist this fresh assault; so rapid iu their course were the violent 
symptoms, that medical treatment proved wholly unavailing. 

" In the space of three days death closed the melancholy scene. 
" In this manner, at the age of fifty-nine, society was deprived of * 
^et amiable and valuable memLer, aud Utcrature one of its brigbtesl 
[liameDts. 

' The foregoing statement will, I hope, afford all the ex|ilaaaliDiii 

ih can be required, of the nature of Mrs. RadclifTe's illness. Doriflg 

e whole continuance of the inflammation of the lungs, the miadwasper- 

'n its reasoning powers, and became disturbed ouly on the last Iwa 

ree days, as a natural consequence of the inflammation alTectiug tbc 

mbraaes of the brain. 

" Previously to the last illness, and at all times, Mrs. Hadcliffe en- 

Etrkablycb^rful state of mind; andnooneiraafartlieri'earoved 



^^L- * ^^Se ^69, 


y^ *;«%., t>^»«^ 


»«i>^Y. 


, 


■ 


I 


m 



Mr9.. aaddifft's PoMthumous Works, %%9 

from ** mental desolation/'^ as has been so improperly described of the 
latter part of her life. 

' '* She possessed a quick sensibility, as the necessary ally of her fine 
genius ; but this quality would serve to increase the warmth of the social 
feelings, and effectually prevent the insulation of the mind, either as re- 
gards the .temper or the nnderstanding." '—-Memoir, pp. 103 — 105. 

It will be seen that this document, instead of contradicting our 
statement, confirms it in, the most pointed mapier. We did not 
speak generally of the latter part of Mrs. RadclifFe's life as clouded 
by '' mental desolation/' as Dr. Scudamore has been taught to 
suppose; we distinctly said that she died in that unhappy state, and 
for this fact we need no further evidence than his own description 
of the melancholy close of her existence. We have been reluc- 
tantly drawn into this explanation, and we now quit the subject. 

We shall pass over the extracts from Mrs. RadclifFe's journals, 
livhich are inserted in the memoir. For although it may most pro^ 
bably have afforded her much pleasure to refer occasionally to tnose 
records of some of her pleasantest excursions through different parte 
of England, yet the reader, who now looks into tnem for the ^r^t 
time, and who possesses no associations connected w^th the scenes 
which she describes, wiU be apt to agree with us in thinking that 
they are exceedingly dull and morbid. The beauties of Gravesend, 
Hochester, and Chatham, the imdulations and richness of landscape 
which characterise the road to Sittingboum, the attractions of Bar- 
ham Downs, and the antiquities of Dover, can hardly be objects 
of curious inquiry at this time to any person, except those very 
industrious and praiseworthy gentlemen who are engaged in com- 
piling the county histories, or books of the roads. 

The romance of Gaston de Blondeville is said to have been 
written in. the year 1802, shortly after Mrs. Radcliffe had visited 
Kenilworth Castle, and had made herself intimately acquainted 
with its history. It was the last work of magnitude which she im- 
dertook ;. during the subsequent years of her life she chiefly Qccu,- 
pied her leisure hours in the composition of small poems, from 
which a large selection has been inserted in these volumes, most 
injudiciously in our opinion, as they are in every respect unworthy 
of Mrs. Radcliffe's talents. ' In the brightest period of her. intellect 
she could hardly be said to have succeeded in poetry. Some, and 
but a few, of her verses, breathe an exquisite perception of the 
charms of nature, and purity as well as tenderness of feeling. But 
her lines almost universally want rythm, and the language, though 
sofficiently expressive of die author's meaning, is not of a poetical 
dialect. This is the more remarkable as we are told that 

. ' To music she was passionately attached, and sang herself with exqui- 
site taste, though her voice, remarkably sweet, was limited in compass. 
At; the Opera she was a frequent visitor, and on her return home would 
sit up Bin^dg over the airs she had heard, w\iic\i \iet ^^;ns3sXL^<& ^^ ^»k 
tnabled Jier to catch, till a late hour. She was \^\^v8a\^ ^^^^V^^ ^^ 



Mrs. Kadcliffe'i Poslhumoiis Worltt. 

faered music, and occasionally went to the oralorioB, wheu they afforded 
her the opportunity of listening to the com post lions of Handol. She vbb 
foD<l of listcuing to nny good verbal sounds, aud tronld often desire to hear 
passages from the Latin tmd Greek classics, requirinf^ at intcrrala the 
most literal translations that could be );ivcn, however much tlie version 
might lose in elegance by the exactness.' — Memoir, pp. 99, 100, 

Of Gaslon de Blondeville we may ohBerve, that it differs in its 
style, character, and machinery, troni all Mrs. RadclifFe 'a previous 
productions. It is^preaented to us as an ancient legend. The lan- 
guage in which it is told is supposed to have been so far modernized 
as to be rendered perfectly intelligible, yet the construclion of the 
sentences is framed upon the model of the old chronicles, and 
several obsolete phrases are revived for the purpose of assisting the 
fiction of its antiquity. To all this there is no sort of objection, as 
Mrs. RadcliiFe has, we think, succeeded tolerably well in bleniUng 
throughout her narrative simplicity of diction with the flowing, 
straight forward, and rustic style of some of our older writera. 
There is also a spirit of superstition and credulity about the work 
wtiich takes ua back into the bosom of the darker ages, and which 
ought perhaps, in a great measure, to prepare us tor most of the 
extraordinary incidents of which the tale is composed. Yet, though 
amongst those incidents the frequent re-appearance of a murdered 
person from his restless and unhallowed grave, for the purpose of 
demanding vengeance against his murderer, would seem to be in 
perfect accordance with the notions which prevailed on that subject 
in the reign of Henry III., we own that we are disposed to think 
rather lightly of the inventive powers of an author who takes 
shelter under such exploded fancies, in order to make use of a 
resource so convenieni, and so prohfic of spurious horrors. One 
might as well attempt to found a tale upon the double suns which 
appear so often in the works of the old historians, upon the system 
of astrology, which once held such powerful sway amongst manr 
kind, or upon the mysteries of witchcraft, which our legist aiure had 
so much trouble in eradicating from the minds of the people of this 
country, as upon the supposition that the ghosts of the murdered 
returned to the earth as often as they thought proper, in order W 
bring the guilty to justice. Tales of 'this description may startle 
the nursery, and amuse the vulgar, but they cannot attract the 
attention of those whose judgment is of any value in matters of 
literature. 

We cannot, however, but acknowledge that, although much of the 
interest which Mrs, Radcliffe intended to produce in this romance 
depends upon the admission of supernatural agency, there are in it 
a few situations and incidents striking in their effect. There is a 
strong resemblance between the general outhne of the Etoty and 
that of Miss Harriet Lee's celebrated tale of Kruitzner. The 
essentia] difference between the two productions consists in this, 
that tlie iajuied^pet6oa in KruiLzuet a)^ea)caS.u\aaxesi^'4ia^du.- 



Mrs. Radcliffe'9 Pasihummu Wqrki, 285 

racier to the discomfitare of the favoured hypocrite, who msie to 
honour by his wickedness ; whereas, in Gaston de BlondevUle, the 
secret eiult of the hero is discovered by the ghost of the victim 
whom ne murdered. This difference in the conduct of the two 
stories makes aQ the distinction between a legitimate and an illegi- 
timate mode oJF producing an impression ; between that which is 
highly dramatic, and that whicn is merely melodramatic in its 
structure and scenery. 

Gaston de Blondeville is a young knight of gallant personal ap- 
pearance, who stands high in the favour of Henrv UI*^ smd accom- 
panies that monarch during one of his great Michaelmas festivals 
to Kenilworth Castle. The progress of the court to that ancient 
domain is described by Mrs. Radcliffe with great minuteness, and 
touched here and there with the fine gorgeous colourings of her 
pencil. As the king was about to enter me casde a stranger .was 
seen to approach him, and fixing his eyes upon Sir Gaston, who 
was in attendance by his side, was heard to cry out " justice^ most 
noble Henry !" For the moment it was supposed that the stranser 
was insane, and he was borne away on a shield, overcome by tne 
intensitj of his feelings. The following day he again sought the 
{nresence of the king, and demanded justice upon robbers and mur- 
derers who infested his high-ways. Upon being questioned, he 
said that his name was Hugh Woodreave, a merchant of Bristol ; 
* that three years before, travelling with a very large sum of money 
m his possession, and being in company witn three other [)ersons, 
two of them merchants of good repute, and the other a lansman 
of his own, they were attacked in the forest of Ardenne, when 
about two miles from Kenilworth, and robbed of nearly aJl they 
carried !' His kinsman, who had served in the wars, was murdered 
on the spot, the rest escaped. Woodreave boldly accused Sir 
Gaston of. being the murderer, and though the king imputed a 
charge, apparendy so extravagant, to the mahce an4,venvy of Sir 
Gaston's enemies, of whom he had many oE^^MSQfgjJl^f his French 
mffXi and his high favour at courtyyet W<k)i*dat^ iJras ordered to 
be confined in a distant turret of Ihilb casde, until the grounds of 
bis accusation sl^yjjd be investigated. There he lay for several 
days, wholly forgo^ni. It was, however, a strong circumstance in 
lavoor of ms compmikit that, about the time of the alleged rob- 
bery and murder, ^ camp lay on the edge of the forest, and that 
Sir Gaston was thera serving as an esquire to a knight. 

Perhaps the most affecting parts of this romance are those in 
which the author takes occasion to contrast the lonely and ne- 
]glected situation of the poor merchant, confined in tne turret, 
stretched on a rude pallet, and restrained within a cheerless cham- 
ber, with that of the favourite, who was the object of his accusa- 
tioa, and who in the mean time performed a leading and di&tixv- 
jcniblied part in all the mirth and revelry wlnc\i occa^^^dL ^Ssi& c«q3X 
cwmg Henry's sojourn at Kenilworth. Tbiete S& ^oxcLe?OK«\% ^'*'*" 



486 Mrs. RadcUffe's Posthumous Worhs. 

tremely engaging in the Vigilant attention and tenderness wMi 
which the author seems to visit tlie eel] of the innocent and iin^ 
happy prisoner, after the close of e^'ery successive scene of splei>' 
dour and amusement, amidst: which the imputations ievelled against 
the favourite were for a while wholly suppressed. Sometimes die 
' poor merchant,' as she loves to call him, heard the distant sonnds 
of merrimenl and laughter, while he lay cold and weeping in his 
miserable prison, 

' Sometimes, he would rise nnd look tlirough his grated window upon 
the inner court of the castle, liateniog there awhile to the distant min- 
strelsy and to the confusion af numberless voices, footsteps, and closing 
doors, that rose from many a cliamber below. Adou a torcb-bcarer 
would pass the court, ^ page, perhaps, or a yeoman ; and would show the 
gloomy towers above, and the steps of (he guest he led, at their feet. 
But, this piissed, nothing could the prisoner see, save here and there, a 
lamp burning Ihrongh a casement of glass (and a goodly show there was 
of such windows now in this castle) like stars through a clouded sky ; but 
mostly the glorious beams of the great hall, that struck through the win- 
dows and lighted the air above. Once he heard the trumpets blow, and 
thought the king was coming forth, and once he fancied he saw, in the 
person of one who followed a lorch-bearer. Sir Gnstoo himself. Then 
turned he from the casement, looked no more, and fell upon his pallet. 

' At last, every distant sound grew fainter ; the noise of the dancer* 
ceased ; then the minstrelsy sunk low ; the voices of the hall revellers 
became few; he heard less frequently the doors opened and shut; aod 
then he heard the fastening of bolls and bars : and, afar off, the castle 
gates closed for the night; and soon all grew still, as though no living 
creature inhabited there. 

' And thus it kept, till the wayfe piped his second watch in all the 
courts. Then the stranger arose, nnd, looking again through his grate, 
saw him well, by the light his groom carried, piping the hour. And) 
when the man had finished his saye, he went round the court, his buy- 
groom holding up the torch, white he tried every door, and Found that all 
was safe. Uy this light too, he perceived the wardour's men on guard; 
but no living being else was seen. The windows of the great hall wew 
dark; and, the torch being gone, nothing glimmered through the night, 
save one great star, which wizards say is evil. It stayed, at his hour, 
right over King Henry's lodgings ; but for whom it watched, who wai 
there that might tell T The prisoner knew the star, and all that wsl 
thought of it, and he betook him to his pallet groaning heavily. 

* He had not long been there, wheu, as he thought, a voice near hiu 
spoke his name. Now, there was a small gratis looked out from his 
chamber upon the stair ; and thence the voice seemed to come. The pri- 
soner, raising himself from bis pallet, turned, and saw there the figare of 
a man passing away. He kept hia eyes fijteil, for some space, u])on tHe 
grate, but the figure appeared no more, and he sunk again on his pallet. 
' The voice, fciint and pausing as it was, had thrilled faim with dread. 
Whose it was, wherefore it had called him by a name knowu but to few, 
and bad then jiassed away, without commuiua^ with liira, he tried in vain 
ta tmderatvtfii yet seeoHd it nol irfaaUy new to V^tt." — '\ (ft~v.'^i\%^— \%ft. 



Mr9, RadcKffe's Posthumous Wortst isi 

The whole of Ais passage is highly picturesque and affectitfg/ 
and. ii^ this manner the author often feUcitouslv uses the situation 
of Woodreave for the purpose of interesting the reader in the de^ 
scription of scenes which he is supposed to witness from his lonely 
and elevated chamber in the turret. This simple artifice enables 
her to avoid a fault which has been frequently committed by her- 
self in her former romances, and which may be noticed in yery 
many works of fiction, eyen in those of the first order — we mean 
the narration of incidents and the description of scenery, giyen by 
the author in his own person, which ougnt to haye proceeded from 
the characters engaged in them, or, at least, ought to haye been 
so intimately blended with what passes in the minds of those cha^ 
racters, as to preclude the appearance of the author altogether. In 
this respect the use made by Mrs. RadclifFe of the poor merchant 
is a model which may be studied with advantage by future 
novelists. 

There are few, indeed none, of the ghost scenes which we cdii 
recommend to their attention. The first appearance of the smrit 
lakes place during the ceremony of Sir Gaston's marriage. The 
bride, of course, falls into a swoon, but, after causing sufficient 
consternation in the chapel, the ghost has the humanity to walk 
away, «nd the service proceeds to its conclusion. He appears again 
in the banquet-hall, during a great feast given by the kmg, clothed 
in heavy armour, which he quickly exchanges for the attire of a 
minstrel. Mrs. Radciflfe thus describes him :— 

'There entered the hall, about this time, a jongleur, or glee-man, with 
harp in hand, clad in a cloak of grey, and took his seat at the lower end. 
His sandals were stained with marks of many a mile's travel ; and he sat 
awhile wearied and breathless. Those, who saw him, supposed that he 
bad been to Warwick Castle, there to exercise his art, as so many others 
of his craft did ; that, having heard the lord of that domain was here, 
keeping festival at Kenihworth, and knowing a jongleur to be always wel- 
come at such seasons, he had posted hither, with all speed, not waiting 
eVentd amend his guise. Yet, marvelled they how he had gained adn^it* 
tance, in plight so ill becoming a king's presence ; but there was that' lA 
hid look and stature, that agreed as little with his apparelling, as that 
did with the king's high presence ; and which checked the questions they 
would have put to him. A page, seeing his weary look, offered him wine 
and meat-; bathe, with gesture that spoke as much as words, refused the 
gift, but accepted the good will. 

'And BOW the minstrels came down from their gallery, and sat altoge-' 
ther^ al*iiie board's end, at the bottom of the hall, eating of the feast and 
partaksB^ of .the laiigesse-cup ; there to remain, till the disguisings should 
'entiBr.'.yikndit was a brave sight to see them all apparelled in the king's 
''^jCljnU^cdandteced with gold; their virger, more glorious than the 
re9t»fiW)5Bfeet3iig: all t^eir doings. They eyed the stranger glee-man 
aaloiiboei lUkd anked him not te their board, wondering why h'e came tbi- 
ther, where was no need of him, as they thought, and y'\«mtk%\v\^ ^\ii\I^t^ 
with contempt and himself with disdain, as treading \l^ou ^e» i^!^' ^^ 



Lit 

|K:: 

th 

K 



Mrs. Radcltffe's Posthumoui Worh. 

their greatoesa, he beiag no better than a waadering minstrel. He seened 
Id read their thonghts, and hia proud looks did somewhat daunt them; 
yet did hia ruffled spirit take refuge with liis harp and gain strength from 
it ; for, he soon atnick forth soiuids so strong &ud clear, aa rung up to 
the urched roof, and filled all the haU witb auddeu wonder. Maister 
Pierre hitnsctf could not exceed him iu force and spirit, and amongst the 
whole five of the king's harpers wns not one, who might not have boved 
before him. Soon the hum of husy tongues, that had often filled the hall 
with noise as of the murmuriug tides, so that the whole band of miuBtrels 
might hardly at times be heard, (yet seemed not one tongue louder tbtm 
another)— soon that hum was haaht and stil],— «nd the aound of that 
harp alone rose up out of the alienee, and spread ita sweetness over bI) 
the air. Every face was turned, with deep attention, one nay, in searcli 
of the minstrel, and every head was hung aside. 

' Observing this, he quickly changed his measure (o one more wild and 
abrupt, and his eyes seemed to Bcnd forth sparks of fire, while he saag, 
with full and clear voice, parts of the famous l.iy of Richard Cwa it 
LiioD, as 

' " Him followed many an English knight," 
\d other lines. Prince Bdward, the while, seemed to lose not a word he 
When he came to the words, 

' "By the blood npou the grass 

Men might see where Riehard n 
the glee-mau could not end them before the priu 
was, and, with fiery eyes, as if inspirited by then 
on hia field. The glee-man proceeded. 

' "As anow ligges on the mountains, 

Behelied* were hills and plains 

With hauberk bright and helm clear 

Of (rompers and of labourer ; 

To hear the noise it was wonder : 

As though the earth above and under 

Should fallen ; so fared the sound!" 
When the harper had ended, the king asked who played ; 
a wandering glee-man, drawn hither by the fame of the fei 
ness ordered he should be Uken care of and well supplied with baaqoel- 
icg.'—Vol. ii. pp. 54—59. 

But the phost, instead of waiting for the entertainineat which 
was offered him, next turns magician, and, after the usual pageants 
bad been exhausted, creates a wonderful scene for the amusemeal 
of his highness, which, like tlie tragedy in Hamlet, had for its ob- 
ject to ex|>ose the guilty one iu its mirror. 

■ And now, while the king and the archbishop seemed severally to In 
pondering their thoughts, a solemn air of music was heard, without the 
hall, aud the approach of another pageant withdrew liis highacss's atten- 
tion, who enquired why this had not appeared before the vdde, but 



ce, forgetting where he 
L, stood like a conqueror 



; aud, being told 
.tival,-hi8 high- 



^nished by supposing, that it was some mysterie of the men of CovMti; 
' e him. He, therefore, graciously took his chair agilB- 



ended to surprise h 



Mrs: Radcliffe^s Posthumous Works. 289 

tisteniag to the sad and sweet harmony that advanced, while he ruminated 
on the late extraordinary occurrences ; for, indeed, the quiet mournful- 
Bess of these sounds promoted the musing of melancholy thoughts. 
. ' At last, the pageant entered, and there appeared in the hall the pre- 
sentation of a sea-shore, with high white cliff^, so cunningly mimicked, 
that it was the marvel of all, who beheld. There seemed the very waves, 
flushed with the setting sun and hickering in the light, as also breaking 
with gentle noise upon the strand ; and . a ship riding at anchor near, 
with a little boat lying on the beach, as if waiting to carry some one 
away. Now, the absence of certain evil sprites from this pageant, would 
have been enough to convince his highness, that this was no mysterie of 
the men of Coventry, without the beautiful deception of the scene here 
played forth, — and he marvelled. 

'Then there came in, the music playing sadly, a knight and a lady, 
with two little children following. The knight took them up tenderly, 
and pointed to the ship, and kissed them. The while, the lady wept 
sordy, and hung upon the knight, who tried to comfort her, and, pointing 
to the ensign on his shield, which showed that he was prepared for the 
Holy Land, he knielt down, and raised his hands on high. She knelt be- 
side lum, and then the babes, lifting up their little hands, knelt too; the 
music, the while, playipg solemnly and sweet. Then they rose up, and the 
knight again kissed the children, and held the lady to his heart. After 
which, mariners came in^ and, launching the boat, the knight departed 
for the ship. But the lady stood weeping on that sea-shore, and mo- 
tioning with her hand, till he reached the vessel, and it sailed away. 

' But still she stood, while it vanished in that gloomsome mist, which 
BOW seemed to rise from the ocean, and to stain all that glorious west, 
where late the day had been. Then, seeing the bark no more, she turned 
away, and wept piteously, leading her little babes, and so she departed.' — 
Vol.iL 69—71. 

This was intended to represent the departure of a knight for Pa- 
lestine, whither this extraordinary sorcerer next leads the spectators 
by the representation of that country, filled with Saracens and 
dhristians engaged in combat. The knight, after many feats of 
arms, wins golden honours in the field, and sets out for his native 
land. The sea-shore is again exhibited by the wonder-working 
qririt, with the safe landing of the knight, and next the forest in 
wlricli he was murdered. 

"^And. now other sounds were heard, but of what instruments none 
kaeir. They were grave and sad, with sometimes dreary pauses, that 
made many to shake. Then a forest appeared with gloomy woods, and 
no suBShine seen, save one gleam, which showed travellers coming on, as 
if to forae towers, the tops of which were seen over the woods ; and many 
ia tte.hftU said these looked like the towers of Kenilworth ; others said 
4lif .viPi^.di'i^r^t* It was now, when the light was failing on these 
iMNHtjiil^PAt »toreh carried by one of the travellers began to cast its 
^fami|M|j9i^tt^ the boughs, and showed them to be three horsemen well 
i^|0UlMiU4>iie -of whom appeared to be the very knight from Balestine ; 
iSo the others were none knew ; but the king viewed iWrn m>\!^ ^^^^ 

VOL. n. \i 



390 Mrs. Kadclijfe's Pasthuviaati Works. 

aUeDlivii. and with seeming displeasure; and non not one word mu 
spokeu in the hall, and every eye was watching what would befall next. 

' Anon there came out from the wood three men armed, and with masks 
upon their faras, who soon came up with the travellers aud attacked then. 
Tliese defended themselves as well as tbcy could ; but the knight beiig 
armed, it was he who fought well nigb for all. Now many stood np b 
the hall, and amiirmur aud confused noise ran through it, for theygneMecl 
in their hearts what this meant. 

' The knight had his helmet on, but the visor was open, and thus «u 
his face exposed ; on hia helmet stood a raven for his crest, with open 
beak and wings half-spread. He fought manfully with the stoutest gf 
the robbers, whose mash falling down to the ground, it was too pish, i 
that his cuuuteuHuce was the likcuess of one then living in the hall ami 
standing by the king's chair. Oa ibis, every ono iu the hall, not except- 
ing tbi] ladies, stood up, some looking eagerly to the high board, and ] 
otikors to tlic pageant, while his highness spitke not, hut sat as if sternly j 
determined to watch this extraordinary delusion to the end ^ nor did be ' 
once.look towards any one who stood near him. ' 

■■ The end jiuon came ; for the robber, wresting in a great slniggle a 
sword from the knight, plunged it through his open visor, and lie fell 
froD] his liorse, a dead man. Then was there a universal gronn throngh- 
out the ball. The robber departed, with the sword in his hand, and ilark- 
ueas fell over the whole scene, which appeared no more.' — Vol. iL pp. 
78—81. . I 

The ghost now resumes hb owii character, and appears on the st*ps 
of the oais, clad in armSj with the raven on his helmet, and, on befflg 
challenged by the king, he points to Gaston de Blondeville as lilt 
murderev. The hall is thrown into general confiision, the doon 
are'ordcred to be closed in order to secure the ghost, bnt he easily 
escapes through a chink in the roof, and the king is persuaded lial 
the whole is the work of magic. It would be a tedious labour. » 
follow the ghost through all his operations. They are conli|uecl 
almost without interruption until Gaston de Blondeville is faidy; 
" frightened to death," and Woodreave is released from his ihp.^ 
dom. To those who love fictions which recognise no bouiidarj of 
space, no limitations as to time, no consistency that follows the 
known order of reason, or eveij. of a sound imagination, the extra- 
vagant delusions of this narrative cannot faU to prove highly 
acceptable. Generally speaking, we should hope that the age of 
such credulity as this romance requires from its readere has passed 
away; even those who may be interested by it on a first perusa), 
will look back upon it as a sickly dream, that is much more likely 
to distemper the fancy than to gratify and improve it, 

A considerable portion of this romance is occupied with minute 
and tiresome descriptions of the several courses wmch arc supposed 
to have been served up at the king's banquets, and witfi details ot 
a tournament, which will demand a considerable degree of patience 
from the reader. " Arguments" are prefixed to each chapter, aa 
descriptionij oflhe illuminated illusUatvona \)aax. Me sw^goa^ii. w^je 



Mfk. Radeliff^i Posihumcm Worts. m 

existed in the old manuBcript from wMch the legend is IFeigned 
to have been taken. These '* arguments" are, in general^ prettQy 
executed ; they shadow out, in vague 'oudines, the events that are 
about to be narrated, and they often remind one of the fanciful 
vignettes which are to be found in books and manuscripts ot an 
ancient date. 

We shall conclude our notice of this wild tale with a forest 
scene, which will stronglv remind the reader of Shakspeare's 
Ardenn, and is really very beautifiil and picturesque. 

* Thfe quete' wtfs in b^ litter, hung with parple vdvet, broidered with 
pM, dhiwn- by milkywhite ste^ richly barnesf^d ; six esquires riding 
before her ; with divers of her court, and six jMges mntiing beside her, 
and comiMUSsed all abont, with noble ladies and officers ot her state. 
Ghiefestfllttaocfg the ladies, for* gracctfnlness, went the Baroness de Blonde- 
TiUe, on a white pftlfrey. A palfrey of the like, led by two pages, follow- 
ed the qi^n, ^r her highn^s to ride, wh^ she should so mind. The 
Countesses of Cornwall bM Pembroke-MonffMt were likewise in their 
fitted; gorgeoasly apparelled, with a' press of noble danies compassing 
them abbat and pages and fbotmen. 

'Befb^'the king rode the lord warden of this' forest, attended by 
the velrderer and otliei* gnicrdians of the vert and venison; with fifty 
trdiers, clothed in gr^n; moving in pairs, and 'sounding hy turns their 
hngles, with right merry glee. First began the four nearest his highness, 
and, when they took breath, eight strubk up, further on ; then again six 
sounded, and so the music rose and fell throughout the line with most 
sw^ diaageS. The sound roused up the stags in the forest, and many a 
one afar off was seen to bound athwart the avenues from shade to shadis; 
8vit.thQ.|dng came not to hunt, this day, nor would he let an arrow be 
leT^]l(»d:at.^y he saw, though this might have been done without fear of 
hittiag ; for they flitted from gloom, like a sun-beam among clouds, and 
hardly could you tell when they had passed. 

''Bat that, which most delighted the queen's ladies in these wild woods 
was to see the nimble squirrels climbing among the boughs, and springing 
firam brahch'to branch, so full of happy life it was a pleasure to behold. 
And somfe; when' they had gained the topmost boughs, would qmetly sit, 
dflUiking the chi^Snots, and securely looking, with thehr fbU, quick eyes, 
on the company below. 

' TMs noble company had not gone many miles under these forest 
shades, &te their horns were answered hy others, afar off, that made every 
Km and dcfl to ring ; yet feared they not what this might mean, nor made 
halt to inquire. Presently, coming where the woods opened, they espied, 
in a, green lane, a demi-circle of tents, and on the hills beyond a hody of 
archers— outlaws they seemed to he — three hundred at the least, drawn 
up. ii^. battle-array, as if ready to meet them. Thenohle company, nothing 
daante^^ still advanced, and the king ordered his bugles to sound a parley ; 
(he wnlch was no sooner done, than all the echoes of those hills answered 
with abrns and straight the captain of the band came down upon that 
litlSe p&in, attended by twelve of his archers and by two pages, one lead- 
nig a brace of milk-white greyhounds, in a chain of ^ieeV, t>DL^ o\Nv^\^^&x- 
inghu' haw Bad arrow. These approached the king, cv^ VslV^u^i. * 



^2 



Mrs. Hadciiffe's Posthumous Worts. 



i theu, (UsmoiintiDg from their liobbies, ihe captain, who was oo otberthi 
I tbe luDg'a b'jtniian of thh foresl, taking Ids bow and arrow from tl 
I page, fell ouooe knee, and presi^nted them to his highness. 

. ' The king, having shot off Ihe arrow, graciously returned the bo 
I with a purse of gold, and bade him rise, which he refused to do, until li 
I highness and tbe ijaeen should grant his petition, which was, that th 
would repair to the tents, and there rest ; while bis archers sought 
entertain them with their bows. Thisgrnnled, the bow-bearer rose, ar 
leading those snowlike greyhuuads, whose necks were bound with coU; 
of ebony inla.id with silver, preseuted them to the king, as lord of il 
forest. But tbey were the queen and her ladies, who best welcom 
those delicate aniDials, admiring their slender forma aud dainty coa 
white aa the ermiue on tbcir own mantles. 

' Forthwith, their highnesses, with this noble company, repaired to t 
tents, where they found venison ready prepared for them, with oti 
game, such as these woods aiforded, and wines aud fruits of autumn, 
let forth oQ boards dressed out with oaken boughs, so that every tal 
Memed a bower. The rustit scats of the king and queen were raised 
turf, not carpeted with tapestry, but strewed with flowers, and, for tb 
canopies of estate, they had arching briinches of chesnut, wreathed wi 
tweet woodbine. The wine was brought in beechea cups, carved fn 
that noble tree, tiiat stretched forth its mighty branches over the kiii| 
tent, and then sent out its spray, so lightly and so proudly, above the 5 
of England waving there. Also, instead of damask water in golden ewe 
water, clear aa crystal, was brought in beechen caps, and in bunte 
horns, bound with silver, from the wild brook, that ran among I 
rocks, and that made, in its louely course, still music under the gre 
aliadows.'— Vol. ii. pp. 123—129. 

We have now, we think, enabled the reader to judge for hii 
self of the meriis, as well as the defects of Gaston de BloitdWt 
The'poems which are eked out to nearly two vohimej, cdnatfiCVfl 
long and unreadable romance, and a nnmber of short pieces up 
a great variety of subjects. If they had been all consigned to i 
flttmes Mrs, Itadcliife's fame would not have been in the tfc 
degree injored by the sacrifice. We present the following lines 
the least unfavourable specimen which we could find in tnie; 
collection. 



' hnppy bird! thy gay return I hail i 

For now 1 sec young Spring, with fill her train 
Of sports and Joys, borne on the western g.ile. 

And hear afar her sweetly warbling strain. , 
Ojice more tbe opening clouds shall now dificlpsCi ^ j. 

The heaven's blue vault — the son's ii]}-cljperi(ig^_fl^j JjB 
The vales, once more, in tender green repose, . 

The violet wake beneath the breath of Afay. 
O happy bird ! how playful aud how light ! , , 

TJiy circling pinions skim the. upward air ; 
C^uJtitig, gay and playful in iVi^ ftv^^it, . 
Companioa of the Summer s 



utot\ 



Reynolds* Life and Times. 20) 

Yei, while I welcome thee, and wish thee long, 

I sigh to think that ere the Autumn fade. 
Thou 'It seek, in other climes, a vernal song. 

More gentle gales and renovated shade. 

Ef'd now I see thee on the light clouds soar. 

And melt in distant aether from my view ; 
As laughing Summer, to the western shore. 

Over the seas Biscayan you pursue. 

Thy policy to us, ah ! dost thou lend f 

Flies thus, with gay prosperity — the friend V — Vol. iv. pp. 204, 205. 

To the prose romance, as well as to that ii) verse, copious notes, 
which help to swell out the four volumes, are added by the editor 
—Mr RadclifTe. They exhibit a good deal of antiquarian research, 
and are well written, though here and there unnecessarily tinged 
with religious peculiarities. It is due to that gentleman to add, 
that if this publication has been extended beyond its. just proporr 
doQs, through mercenary motives, be, at least, can derive no profit 
from them. He states, in a note, that every part of the pn)duce of 
the purchase-money of the copy-ridit * will be paid, as it shall ac- 
crue to him, to some charitable institution in England.' 



Art. Vir. • The Life and Times of Frederick Reynolds. Written by 
himself. In 2 Vols. 8vo. 1/. 8 v. London. Colburn. 1826. 

Reynolds was, for nearly forty years, the most indefatigable of 
all CHu- writers for the theatre ; he was, also, one of the most stic- 
cestful on the stage, and he was, altogether, the most money- 
making, his balance at the close amounting, as he ' feels happy 
in telliiig us,* to the sum of nineteen thousand pounds ! 

To give the world the knowledge of the means by which such a 
phenomenon in stage finance was produced, would have justified 
apy man in writing a history of himself. But, in addition to this 
more substantial matter, Reynolds had, in the '^ written traces of 
his brain," a vast variety of pleasant recollections, compatriot and 

Cnal, theatrical and ultra-theatrical, of which he ^* would have 
the crudest he alive to leave the world no copy," and he may 
be considered as the residuary legatee, and " only surviving repre- 
sentative*' of the Miles Peter Andrewses, the Tophams, and other 
rambUng, lively, faJTce-writing, green-room-dangling men of the last 
half century. Those recollections he has collected after, like Milton, 
" long thinking^ and beginning late,*' and given them to the public 
in two handsome octavo volumes. He is, unluckily for his taste, 
not above the ancient and much-ridiculed contrivance of finding 
an apology for his present authorship. Pope set these things down 
under the general head of " obliged by hunger;^ and, xete^^isX. c>1 
fiiends." Keynolds has added to these natoraV aivA^ \xA\\eTv>aai 
motives the singular one of a 'severe nervous diseas.^.* V? e 6L0^3^QX. 



P 



Reynotda' Life and TimM. 

whether such a motive ever struck man before ; and We are per- 
fectly sure, that the time was when he would have thought ii an 
inv^uable hit for a farce. Another of the ancient abairdilies, 
which no man would have turned to plcasanter ridicule, is bis com- 
mencing his work with the commencement of his atice^iy, and 
even this he urges upward, like an old chronicler, into the cloudsof I 
hypothesis. ' Having heard my grandfather say, that kit grand- 
fatner was secretary to Thurloe, Cromwell's secretary!' On this 
hint their descendant speaks, and, by the more than poetic licence 
of a " perhaps" of uncommon dimensions, fabricate himself iato 
the lineal descendant of a statesman and warrior. 

' Perhaps this same Reynolds, juiutDg tlie military to the literary pro' 
fcssion, was tbc man who dispersed the rebels at Burford in Oxfordshire; 
and then, allied with Jones, defeated the Marquis of Ormond, at Ralli- 
mines, near Dublin. He afterwarda led over six tlioasaud men for a 
junction with Turenne, at the siege of Dunkirk; which they took, and 
delivered to Cromwell after a victory over the Spaniards, at the battle of 
the Dunes. May, therefore, the reader, for the hononr of kis hero, beliere , 
that this hero was my ancestor.' — p. 2. 

We pass over some pages of ancestry, and come closer to the j 
biographer himself. His grandfather was an opulent merchant, 
living at Trowbridge, in Wilts. His house a ' curiosity,' and its 
master a ' curiosity ;' a short man in a bushy bob-wig, with a little 
round hat (an offence for which, in that day, a man ran the risk 
of being shown about in a cage, or hung in effigy) and a full pom- 
padour suit ! Ho kept, however, a dull house; for, though he gave 
his grandsons a guinea a-day for living with bim, none of ihem 
could endure to eum beyond the " third guinea," and he lived to 
be one hundred years old ! Originality was obviously an inbeii- 
tance. 

• The youngest son (my father) now remains to be mentioned. He 
was born in 1728. My grandfulhcr having determined that neither of hia 
•ODS should lead a li^ of indolence, articled him in early yonth lo Mr. 
Pickering, an eminent solicitor. When the term of his clerk^p wss 
Crxpired, he entered into business on his own account. In course, at llie 
GOmmeneemeBt, his clients were not very numerona ; but, aided as he «u. 
by his Other's inHuence, aud supported by his money, and his own talents, 
IJiey rapidly inereased. What Jubnsoii says of Savage may moat apjifu- 

'ately bo applied to him r — " Ho scarcely ever found a stranger wliom 
did not leave a friencL" He was a thorough bou vivant, frisjidly, pi 

eral to excess: dolingly fond of society ; of extraordinnry humour, siid 

ivacilyiu couverfiatloii ; captivating in his manners, and handsome mW 
■ Vol. i. p. 4. 

This man married llie daughter of a rich retired merchiUKwitli 
£5000, then a large dower, of which this thriving vittec made il"-' 
following busiuesK-like note, on the back of the marriage setlle- 
ment : — "Augusf. 12, 1752, received the siun of JCSOOC^ being the 
twuii&raiion noncy 6x the pw^raam w'lS^nn. ntjQlwnfA-t- 'Ibe ^ 



Reynolds' Life atid Times. 295 

sc^citor made rapid way, his income was £3000 a-year, and he 
emerged into the " world" as it was then ; * he rented a large house 
in Lime-street, Fenchurch-street !' But he also bought a villa and 
estate, Southbarrow, near Bromley. Children and clients now 
came crowding upon him. After three sons the biographer ap- 
peared Nov. 1, 1764. In 1765 Reynolds had the curious fortune 
of having Wilkes for a client, and of being appointed country 
solicitor to Lord Chatham. He, at the same time, obtained seve- 
ral lucrative agencies ; his income now amounting to the handsome 
sum of £5000 a-year. 

Politics were the foolery of the time, and the soUcitor being a 
weak man, was of course a violent politician. 

' When 1 reflect on the political principles I heard inculcated in my 
youths it is strange that I did not biu'st from the egg-shell| a perfect de- 
mocrat. My father was a member of the society for supporting the Bill 
of Rights^ and numbered amongst his intimates not only Wilkes, but 
Sir Francis Blake Delavali Sayre, Home Tooke^ Lord Montmorris, and 
several of the other members. Consequently, our house was a little nest 
of opposition, where radicals of the present day, might have heard the 
whigs of the last, daily and nightly predict the certain and immediate 
ilownfall of the nation, that still exists in increasing splendour." — ^Vol.i.p.Q. 

The politician was now plunged into the full work of peril apd 
expense belonging to such pursuits. 

' Among the following year's events, I can only recollect that my father 
fought a colonel, and a common councilman: that he canvassed the 
electors of Nottingham, with a view to represent them iu ParUament, bat 
failed; and that he was made under sheriff of London, to his friend 
Sawbtidge ; in which office his political opinions then insured him a cer- 
tain popularity.' — Vol. L p. 10. 

Reynolds in his boyhood saw Mrs. Barry in Desdemona, with 
whose appearance he was ominously charmed ; and saw Wilkes, 
whose * forehead low and short, his nose shorter and lower, upper 
Up lone and projecting, and sunken eyes squinting' unspieakably, 
terrified him to tears. . Wilkes, however, took tliis with his usual 
ease, and made a speech on his power of overcoming first impres- 
sons. A note contains something more of this popular personage. 

' Another time Wilkes said, " That he required a fortnight to talk 
away. his hce" But to have formed an opinion of him ^in his house, 
any ^Cfwm would have imagined that his own sentiments, with regard to 
his person, were very different, for it was all looking-glass. Not satis- 
fied with l^rgife ahd small mirrors in every part of the room, the panels of 
the' abors were lined with the same material : so thkt though, adcordmg to 
the wish, of the philosopher of old, he had not a glass in his breast to 
itlfiMf ^^t»s of bi6 actions; lie hs(d stirfduhdinghitn a ftufficieiicytoi repeat 

■ '■ ^mvethoiue to which I allude was at Kensington Groro, whci^evto a ^t^ 
iMMw'ejeco^dlEig-throe or four intimate Mends, Y\c \i«e^.\>Q ^n^ >(N\^ \skvar&\. 
Wx^tytte iittle tlmners that can well be imagVued. Bia^w«X<wiwaL%v^ 



296 Reynolds Life and Timet. 

Iiave DO more tliaii vi\e dish placed ou tlie lable at a time ; by whicli mwns 
Ibe succeeding uuurse was always produced hot. He was always attended 
by female aervauta. Wilkes, iroagiiiiug that his coDversation was k)( 
liable lo be repeated by tbem, than by the mates : on what principle he 
uctcd, I caunot vcolore to detetmiue; but perhaps, being so surrouadcd 
by mirrors, on that, of the old French proverb, " The mind uf a. womnii 
is like a mirror, which receives every impression, but retains none."— 
Vol. i. p. 20, 21. 

Ganick vras at this period near his setting, and Reynolds was 
not of an age to eouiprehend the powers of this marvellous aclOT, 
but he was enraptured with his Hamlet, and fought his way into 
the house on the night of his taking leave. He here tells a tole^ 
rably characteristie story. 

' The riot and struggle for places can scarcely be imagined, even from 
the above anecdote. Though a aide box cloae to where we sat, wu 
completely filled, we beheld the door burst open, and an Irish gentlemao 
Bltempt to make entry, vi et armts — "Shut the dour, box-keeper!" loadly 
cried some of the patty — "there's room by the [ww'ra!" cried the Irish- 
maa, and persisted in advancing. On ttiis, a gentleman in the second 
row, rose, and exclaimed, " Turn out that blackguard !" " Oh, and is tbBt 
your mode, honey V coolly retorted the Irishman; "come, come oat, 
my dear, and give me satisfaction, or I'll pull your nose, faith, you coward, 
and shillal}! yon throngh the lobby !" 

' This public insult left the teunuC in possession, no altcrnallve ; so he 
rushed out to accept the challeugc ; when, to the pit's general amuseineut, 
the Irishman jumped into his place, and having deliberately seated and 
adjusled himself, he turned round, and cried, 

'" riltalk to you after the play is over." ' — Vol. i. pp.90, 91. 

yteme says of the Sentimental Traveller, that all kinds of inio^ 
esting things contrive to fall in his way. A man who intends W 
write his ■ own hfe, is generally as fortunate as the sentimentalist, 
and the chases frappantea of this butitling world contrive to put 
themfietves remarkably in the way of the future anecdotisi. 
Heynolds, who saw the departure of Garriok, thus witnessed the 
more striking last effort of that vigoroas and imperious politician, 
Lord Chatham. 

■ Proiu the proximity of Westminster School to Westmiuster HuU.uod 
the two houses of Parliament, 1 became a lawyer and politician in the egg- 
obeli, I frequently attended Ihe debates, and was, or rather Imngiued 
myself, a grea,t admirer of Lord North, Fox, and Biirkc ; and in West- 
mjn/ter I^all, of Lord Mansfield, Dunning, Thurlow, and VVedderburue. 
B^uLilioiigh jonng.'snd inexperienced, and dazzled by the, sag«c,ity, vigour, 
an'ireloqjipucc of these gentlemen, 1 sooii pecteivcd that ,with-gveat men 
a i;ery Hltledumgui; went, a very great way ; and often ut'tqrwafds, ,wheD 
wrjting^ [used lo Linvj^.lhe yne great advantage ,oC Wii^mioster HAU'ufcr 
theatres ; liowever futile tbeij' utlempts. barrtstcia ti^ua.ot JbtiJiig^d,;^^ 
dra^iiiti^l* ujay. ■.,.,. -. ■, {,. 

,';oi, fnct)iiU af UidiniOJid.'a moliuji, Aiiril .the Jlb, ,1778, »olati^ 

7 



Reynold^ Life and Timet. 297 

the midst of ]>aiii aiid debility, atteuded the house. By the kiuduvits of 
tbe Dake of Bedford, I stood close to the venerable BtatcBman, as ha 
pBMed tfarongh the Peers' lobby ; and I afterwards heard his speech dnrbu 
ibe debate. Never shall I forget the uervous and euergetlc tone in which 
be delivered the following ]>aBS&ge : 

.' " 1 KJoice that the grave has not closed upon me, that I am still aliva 
Id lift my voice against the diamembermeDt of this ancient end moat nobis 
noDHrchy. Pressed down, as I am, b; iufirmity, I am little able to assist 
my Goantry in this most perilous conjuncture ; but I never will consent, 
^le 1 have sense and memory, to deprive the royal offspring of the House 
of Brunswick of their fairest inheritance." 

'The Dukie of Uichmoud having replied to his speech, Lord Cbatbun 
attempted to rise to answer him ; but, after two or three unsuccesafal 
cEbrts, he ^nted and fell. There was but one feeling through the house, 
both parties rushed to his assistance ; though, on the sudden accidental 
interruption of an ordinary orator's speech, the majority say, or seem to 
say, "for this relief, much thanks t" ' — VoL i pp. 112—114, 

In this close the dramatist breaks out, and Reynolds is himself 
again. A personage very remarkable in Ms early day for ability, 
and as remarkable in his later for eccentricity, is now introduced. 

'About this period, one of our constant visitors was the Honourable 
Thomas Erskine, who bad lately relinquished the army and the navy, for 
anew profession, the law. Little did I then think, that this young sta- 
deat, who resided iu small lodgings at Hampstead, and openly avowed 
tbat he lived on cow beef, because he could not afford to purchase any of 
a superior quality, — dressed shabbily, expressed the greatest gratitude to 
Mr. Harris for occasional free admissions, and used boaetingly to exclaim 
to my father, " Thank fortune, out of my own family I don't know a lord," 
little did I then think, that I should ever Uve to see this distressed per- 
Moafe in possession of a peerage, the seals, and the annual receipt of 
'boat fifteen thousand pounds. But want of income, that great profea- 
siwial BtimiOaiit, urged him into action ; and aided by sbrong netoraJ 
tideats, and increasing industry, his consequent success, »td rite, were ao 
r)jad, ^t J remember Murphy, the dramatic author, alw&ys calling him 
tte " jBallopn barrister," 

' One of his first clients was Admiral Keppel, who, being brought to a 
tonrt mof tial by Sir Hugh Falliser, and acquitted, presented his successful 
jiMBg adrocate with a bank note of one thousand pounds. Mr! ErskiBc 
abArcdna this novel sight, and exclaimed, " f^oila, the nonmit of cow 
fe^.-Bi^igood friends !" 

' 80011 after Lord George Oonlon's trial, for whom, with Lord Kenyon, 
be wflB eonnsel, and where again there was a veriUct of acqoittitl, he came 
mth ''^-Us honboffl thick upon bim," and passed thre^ Or fonr days 
vrith m at Sonthbarrow. Whether success bad not increased his com- 
paiii«nabl« 4tut)ities^ or, from what cause I know not, but, thoagh equally 
eoiltoUlifttif^ to my father and my mother, be, and the junior part of the 
hl^;'lgWt^'iseiajietfi\y to loggerheftds, tbai, on the day of his departure, 
ftdl at ov aosposod annoyances, Jack, Robert, aod myself, waylaid V.v«i 
al>tkM>Jtt'>>'lUdd off our* bate*, waved theiA, and t.\\cn W^-L(u&& V\m^. ^^ 
ttroWMottf atmptly, stared, an& haught^y dcmaii&&& w\\%\. i^^ tc^^mxN 



Reynolds' Life and Timet. 

"We meun," cried Hob<>rt, " lo psy the comjiliinent (tae t 
lenU." 

b' "Ay," cried Jack, " parlicutarly to youi talent of making yoondf 
wagreenble." 

'Tlieu we all ran iotu the liuusc, and peeping through a wiudow, t 
m retnraing ; when Huddeuly ultcrLng his mind, he put spurs \a his 
Etfse, uud galloped away. 

' The next time we met in the Adelphi, Erskiae ahook ua by the hxnd, 
ighed heartily at the circum stance, and said, " as he did not forget In 
j8 a great barriater, we were quite right in recneinbering we were tbe 
ms of a great attorney ;" a character certainly not exactly to be trifled 
tth, by either old or young big wigs.' — Vol. i. pp. 117 — 119. 

That unaccountable convulsion which produced ibe riols of 1780, 
■ touched on. Its origin, progress, and iriumph, are among tbe 
Dst extraordimiry instances on record of national madness od 
_e one haod, and ministerial per^exity on the other. All seem 
a have lost their senses. Lord George Gordon phvsicaUy mad, 
|ke mob morally mad, and the administration out ot their reasou 
>ith alarm and indecision. The king beliaved manf\illy, and vas 
; only one who did so. The magistrates shrank, the privy 
iDcil would vote neither the one way nor the other. Lord 
mslield could not be prevailed oti lo say whether he had an 
uiion or not, on a question the very plainest that could be 
ifiered to men in their senses, " whether the outrages of the mob 
toold be lawfidly repelled by force;" the whole wisdom of die 
"Sse was paralysed, until the king put the point directly to Wed- 
^ erbmne, the attorney general, and extorted a direct answer from 
Ihe lawyer. The troops were then ordered out, and after a few 
trifling conflicts, the mob, who in a day or two more would pro- 
bably have laid the greater part of London in ashes, were tom- 
pletely repelled, and the whole tumidt was put down. 
. __ Among those who were particularly perplexed on this pccpsiou, 
^a$ Reynolds's father, the solicitor and pulitician> 

' My father (whose ideas of liberty consisted in thinking fas' Gbonld 
bave the power of elwckiog those in power, rather than that those bcDCfith 
him ehoitld think of checking hini) began to he puzzled as to his opiniofl 
«f the riola. At JirsC, he praised tbe magistracy for not iatcrferiif ; 
but, the hftvoo spreading far and wide, and not exactly nodcTBlBfldiDg 
mob tyranny, on Wednesday, June the 7th, be put one hundred and 
jUty guineas into his pocket, and tooti us idl with him lo 8onthfaHrrou' ^ 
where, after dinner, he said, if the rabble continued to rule, ho would, i" 
sdayer two, depart for France, — " A wise country," he addedv" where 
tbe governlsent was not in ihu people 1" 

■Jack agraed with httn, and bath he and mji father- comtin ted vefac- 
OhtDt^ to inreigh against a dumacriicy. antil She foimer niililcldly hintEdi 
that be ttiought tlie eAuae of the riots hod cuuuadncod with the cry of 
" Wilkes and Liberty !" My father felt the rebuke, and risbgi sbniplly 
from his chair, cried angrily to Jack, " thither you of t le&vo llujs i;)^!!." 
"I know my duty, sir," replied mv geccn ten \«qft)gt,ttiijwiiltafe<M. 
"God save the Kng-" " ^^^^^^^^^ 



Meffnolds' Life and Time$. 299 

' HoweYer^ at midnight, when we walked on the lawn, and looking 
towards London, saw by the red appearance of the sky that probably 
balf the metropolis was in flames (and recollecting also that, before our 
departure, all the prisoners had escaped from Newgate, Clerkenwell, and 
the New Prison to add to the universal horror and confusion) we ap- 
proached my father, and instead of bantering him on his political tergi- 
versation, unanimously thanked him for his kindness and foresight.' — 
VoLLpp. 131— 133. 

In 1782 young Reynolds was turned into a solicitor, and became 
at the same period a verse-maker, and, as for the purposes of poetry 
a Laura is essential, he fell in love vnih a girl, judiciously selected, 
one whose name was convenient for rhyme. But evil days were 
now coming upon his dynasty. The nead of the house, always 
careless, good humoured, and idle, had made one of those starts 
for sudden fortune which has thrown so many bold men into bank*- 
raptcy. He purchased a West Indian estate. This was a terribly 
speciuation ; but this did not come alone, a political banker failed, 
and dispersed to the winds a large share of the property of his 
public-minded friend. Still there was a remnant ; but for that 
too there was a ruin, and it was to be found in the indolence and 
gentlemanlike absurdity of the parent solicitor. His desk was 
ne^ected for his villa ; he took to farming, and promised himself, 
as many a thriving citizen, bom to be uncione, has promised before 
him, that what he lost in the town, he would gain in the country ; 
thoagfa, as the biographer says, * we all knew mat he never reared 
a tm*mp which did not cost bim as much as a pine apple ; nor 
dressed a leg of mutton which did not prove to him far dearer than 
veaison.' 

We have now nearly done with the solicitor ; but we cannot 
resist the following toncning picture of the emharms in which a 
poUtician may sometimes find himself in this land of party. 

' In the btter end of March, Lord North and his colleagues in office 
resigned, and on the 3(Hh of the same month the Rockmgham adminis- 
iraiioii came into power. Lord Effingham being appointed Treasurer of 
the HoBseholdy my father, for the second time in his life, became a 
gorammtnt man; but Lord Rockingham dying on Jidy the: Isl, and 
the Sbalborne administration, with William Pitt as Chancellor of lAie 
fiioheqatT., immediately commencing. Lord Effingham resigned, ani my 
fiiHier soddenly found himself again in opposition. 

'The SheUburnepaetjrbenig removed diiring liie foUowing. A{»il> by the 
coalition of X^Md J£octk and Fox, the latter cametinto power.'' My Aither, 
like nwny ether politicians, then completely posed, used to shake his 
head, sndie, and nay, " 1 don't know which side to take nom- ' ' '\ ' ' 

* fti^Deeeniber of the same year North and Fok losoq^'^Aiiii'' places, 
omng'tcHfthe India- BID, Fitt then returned lutor offiee, tmi'oiily sfi'iOlMm- 
otUonxtf tlie ExchefMT, but also^ as Firsf I^rti offiOnr VMEstfry*. — 

WKcIif tjife anther sfyly winds up' witJi • So m\Si(3iv iov Sgc^^ 

Av quackery on a smmer scaler/ The solidtot vjA^ TV&i^vc^^i! 




300 Reynolds Life and Times. 

usual way ; idleness, good theer, and accommodation bills, put an 
end to this flourishing and causidical politician. His son Frederick, 
who seems to have Been the onlv one of his eccentric family of 
whom he could make any use, ivas sent to Spa to dun Lord 
Grandison, im Irish peer lo whom Ileynolda was agent. There lie 
heard the following incident from Count Zenobio, who I'cry pro- 
bably has some others of the same calibre in his possession. 

' A ehart tliin man, whom nobody ktiBW but by sight, suddenly became 
ft cousluut nttenditot at tlie gamiug tablus. This man, during a. whole 
fortnight, contioued night nfter night, in ibe most oxtruordinnry mauner, 
to win enonnous sums of Ibe fiiro Imiikrrs, as well ua the surrounding 
betters. 

' He wore B|>eclaclcs, and appeurtid so sliort-sigbted, tliat be was always 
uliligcd to touch Ibc counters with his nose, before he could distinguish 
the card. Kuch was his luck, that whatever card he backed u'as sure ta 

'On the last nigbl of hia appcnrancc at Spa, one of the gamesters, it 
young half intoxicated Irishman, had lost an unusually heavy sum. His 
temper was quite gone, aud be vitujierated bis lucky opponent in a atyle 
that might liave edified tbe mosi abusive fishwoman in Billingsgate- 
" IV- -■ you, you old dog," he cried, " and most particularly d your 

si>cclac]p3 ! By the pou-cra, see, if I won't Iry my luck myself iu your 
' cursed ajicctaeles !" and aaatcbing litem from bim, be put tbem on \m 
own face. At first, he could distiuguieh nothing, but on approaching tiie 
cards within three inches of bis nose, be discovered that the spectacles 
were atrong magnifiers. His suspicion and curioaity were immediately 
excited, and be turned to demand an explanation of tbc wearer ; but he 
was gone. An examinaLion then commenced, and the cause of this won- 
derful continuity of luck was ajieedily discovered. 

' The cards in Spa are not bought of shopkeepers, as in England, but 
every autumn, tbe proprietora of tlie gaming tables repair to the graoJ 
fair at Leipzig, and there purchase their stock for the year. Thitber the 
spectacle gentleman bad also liied.not as a iw^er,buta3a#e^/cr of enrds, 
and at aiich reduced rate, and of such excellent quality, tliat all tbe pur- 
chasers resorted to bini ; and Spa, and severnl other tonras,were literallj 
stocked solely with bis cards. At the back of each of tbeae, concealed 
amongst the ornaments, and so amall as to be inijierceptiblc to tbe unas- 
sisted eye, was its number, with a particular variation to denote [be suit- 
Tbcn tbe rogue came to Spa disguised, with blackened hair, and spec- 
taclea ; and there, aa a gentleman gambler, would have broken all the 
banks in Spa, but for the fary of the enraged Irishman. As it wai,'he 
decamped with several thousand pounds. — Vol. i. pp. 209 — 311. 

Here, by his adroitness, the young envoy actually cstcacledo 
draft iur jive luuidred pounds from ilie noble. Iur4;i un^- i>n_ hi^ re- 
inm to Erusseb he iv as struck with the whim of se^ng PrancCf 
for which, as th^.^incncans had jus^. set^uced the,,uufprtuiiiKe 
Louis the Sisleenih into war, all passi>orts for ibe.Epglisb vieje 
refi^&J. For tjus absurdity he might K^ve., syffeced dearly, and 
was OP Ibe point of being thrown into yw»tm^aaTia!c!po!B.^^OT^ 



Reynolds' Life and Timee. 301 

He, however, with difficulty obtained the intervention of Frank- 
lin's secretanr for a day's respite, and finally made his escape, after 
suffering sufficient expense, insults, and terror, in the disguise of 
a footman. The French revolution was aheady preparing, and 
the caricature which he describes is as expressive ascoula.have 
been wished bv a moralist. * 

' As we retarned we went into a caricature shop. Here I was particu* 
larly struck by the evident discontent of the people ; who, as if unable to 
give it a sufficient vent, by wbi8[)ering and printing, painted and engraved 
it. In one of these caricatures, fishes were seen flying in the air, while 
birds were drowning in the sea ; a court of justice was inverted ; the 
king, in his robes, stood attempting to water some drooping plants, but the 
water flew upwards. By his side, on its hinder legs, stood a large female 
wolf, to whom an immense pocket was attached, into which several courtiers 
of the Austrian faction were seen rapidly pouring gold; while in the wolf's 
paw was a large flambeau, whose long flame descending perpendicularly, 
fired their wigs. 

' On the wolfs head, which bore a most ridiculous resemblance to the 
Queen, were immense plumes of feathers ; aUuding to the feather mania, 
with which Marie Antoinette had infected the court, at a period when tl^ey 
were only worn on the heads of horses. Never had fashion a greater rage ; 
every week an additional, a handsomer, or a larger feather was attached; 
until at length the queen, her suite, and her horses, at a short distance 
from the beholder, were lost in one waving, undulating forest of feathers.' 
-VoL 1. p. 229, 

The feather mania was infinitely odious to the hair-dressers, and 
all the tribes living upon the co\^eur art only. Its speedy aban- 
donment appears to have saved the throne from a premature over- 
throw. On this fashion Sir Charles Bunbury wrote the following 
epigraj(n, to which we give a place, as unequivocally the worst 
toat it is possible to conceive : — 

" Since to ape horses sinks womaukind, 
■ Heayen forefend they lovers should find ; 
: > - * For he that courts and wins such fools 
: i' Must raise a race of horrid «»w/^/"— Vol. i. p;230. 

We iiave quackery enough in our day ; but the period' iii^t pre- 
ce^g that time till the revolution, which put an end to all ifgnter 
frauds, was^ singularly full of national fpoleri^Sj, — Dj. (jtr^SLU^'s 
c^tj^ tje^A W^ixal magnetism, ballooning, lotteries, and a crQwd 
of mipprjarts of. extracting the popular money. Th/5 "..perfecti- 
biUty system/' and the " rights of woman," were to be -ihe cage. of 
a more accomplished perioa. 




^y<'_ 
idti^rtiic^^W i Londoii stage,' fi tK# 'ari^sffcte^^ oP> Hyri<Jt .** 
nfefe is 'ridtV^^^t in this 'StilfemiiTitV biir*^^*MiA^ iff»e<^ 
Mflfc 'nils' m^,^'titjadtimeal6ricx!lkfi^^ ^o««^ 



302 Reynolds Lift and Thnes^ 

as tht? mottii for the letiiple of ihe dramatist'^ feme; tfie Blaifli| 
post from wliidi he was to urge his poetic wheels for forty yeail; 
the bpell hy which his g'^ry and his guineas were to be ruled, tfll 
" first and second music" had no sound in his ears ; till box-booh 
and orders were p him but as common foolscap ; and till ihirf, 
sixth, and ninth nights were confounded to him with tlie more 
vulgar products of the calendar. He gives an astonishing anecdote 
of the ingratilude of the play-going creation. 

' Daring the nin of myreall;^ popular, hnlf popnlar, really daotned, and 
half (lainned jiit'coa, 1 should imagine that I have, on an average, wrilUn 
or procured ono hundred and fifty double orders to each; couseijnenllT, 
cutculatiag from the commenccinciit of my dramatic career down to tht 
present period, on the aggregate, above fifteen thousand people have, 
through my privilege aloue, eulered the theatre gratia. 

' But to conclude this, in every respect unprofitable subject, 1 vltl 
merely add, that the only token of gratitude I ever remember to hare 
received from the aforesaid fifteen thousand /rcpm™, was a short ciril 
note from a pastry-conk's boy in Dean-street, thanking me for his four *a 
admissions to the gallery, and requesting my acceptauee of a ra/tpberry I 
pitf.and a little pigeon pie!' — Vol. i. p. 269, 270. 1 

He now fancied that he had fallen in love, and to acquire fant 
and fortune at once he wrote " Wertcr, a tragedy." His play 
was refused by all the London theatres ; but it was brought oOl 
successfidly at Bath, in 1 785, the house being crowded, the front 
of the boxes all covered with pocket-ban dkerchiefe ready for 
action, ' a display which regidaily took plaice during the Siddoni' 
mania,' and every thing giving evidence that several of tlie hand- 
somest and most conspicuous of the belles intended to be seized 
with hysterics on the earhest opporLunity. In the ' gaiden scene, 
where Albert and Charlotte mutually endeavoured to compcxe 
Werter, we were deUghted by the sound of the first _fii, and by 
the scent of its usual concomitant, hartshorn.' Shortly another 
fainted. In the scene of ' the readings iinm Ossian three more 
fainted, and so precisely at the same moment, that, being a com- 
plete neck and neck business, the best judges could not decide 
which of them had won the race.' — Vol. i. p, 307. 

Werter was hissed a good deal, but the mysteries carried the 
day, and the young author was raised into sudden renown. He 
was next day taken by Ring, the master of the ceremonies, to the 
pump-room, where he was warmly congratulated by the late Arch- 
bishop of Armagh, Lady Abingdon, Miss Sophia Lee and her 
si^t^r, Pratt fthe author of Sympa.thy), Sir Thomas Lawrence, and 
by the "old queen oi Bath," Mrs, Macartney, who condescend- 
iugty tpid hiiB that she would see his play, and ' if she approved 
of it' would actually give him a card for her ball and supper a 
feifv evenings after. The tragedy was performed at Bristol, where 
Rc^tioldB went to inhale new triumph, and had the Jtappiiteaa of 
ahtmg.hj a fltrarissiV who, befoieAe eoA oS "flae «««o& «cx;u^ 



Reynold^ Life and I^me^ir 509 

ug his shoulder, exclaimed^ '^ Wretched sad stuflF, sir ; and if 
)u will begin to biss I will join you heart and soul !" Such ar(^ 
be glories of man ! On his return to London his father inquired 
hether he had got any thing beyond the vox populi ? to which 
le author replying in the negative, the soUcitor gave him the fol- 
wing piece of advice, worthy of being painted in letters of gold 
1 the walls of rdne-tenths of the chambers of the Temple, 8cc. — • 

Then stick to a declaration, or a bill in chancery, my boy ; for 
lough they are pretty sure not to be applauded, they may bis en- 
iredp and they mnst be paid for!" 

He was now fairly in the dramatic harness, and determined to 
rrite four pages of dialogue, of one kind or other, every day. 
)n this plan he began " Eloisa, a tragedy," commencing his 
lialogue in this winning style : — " Well now, my darling, what 
lave you to say for yourself?" He showed his play to Murphy, 
who pointed out some absurdities, and gave him in return the fol- 
lowing lesson, which we cordially recommend to all the nervous, 
from the foot of Parnassus to the Peak. 

' The conversation then tnrning on newspapers, he asked me, whether 
I suffered under their attacks } I replied, that 1 had had no opportunity 
of judging, for hitherto alll had seen had been favourable ; but I did not 
thmk the reverse would mi^e much impression on me. He then confessed 
that dnring the early part of his dramatic career, he had writhed greatly 
Q94fir their la^h ; " but," he added, *' I was cured for ever, through the 
interposition of a blessed shower of rain, which driving me into a small 
coffee.-house in Whitechapel for shelter, I there saw a file of the preceding 
year's papers on the table, and glancing my eye over one of them, read in the 
first page, ' Mr. Murphy to-morrow !* Guessing that this threat was only the 
prelude to a thorough punishment, I searched for the next day's paper, and 
there^ according to my expectations, found a most outrageous attack on 
* Murphy's Jlim»i/, linsey-woolsey fFdy to Keep Him.* In the following 
Dumber was a more violent abuse, if possible, on the Pilferer* a Ml in the 
l7>on^, and then another, and another for Murphy, and all the rest of his 
plays in soccession. Now when 1 reflected that, that year, my plays had been 
SQccessfol at night, though by this ultra Churchill condemned every morn- 
ing, i^d that the whole time, owing to ' no good-natured friend' having 
shown me these facetious criticisms, I had walked, talked, eaten, drunk, 
tnd alapt as wdl as ever, I left the coffee-house in high good humour, 
determined, for the future, to ' let the gall'd jade wince ; our withers are 
unwnwg.' "—Vol. i. pp. 319— 32L 

Another mania had for some time seized on the fashionable 
wofld — this TiTas " private theatricals." Richmond-house was the 
great rwdezvoua of these high-bom and awkward Othellos and 
Rpmeos* Lord Derby, Lord Henty Fitzgerald, and Mrs. Dainer, 
were the aiaateur rivals of Kemble, Lewis, Siddons, and Farren. 
Old Mackiin's ofAiuon on these points was probably the true 6ne, 
'^ tbiut the (best private actor that ever trod the stage was tiot.\i%& 
so flpp€d<^ IHbble Davies" (a third-rate perfotmet oi \k^ ^^^. 

fte cid*solicitor bad. been Idng mining^ but tSafe tvsxu iiaxafc 






Rai/nol(h' iAfe and Ttme^' 

last; hi'i whole j>roperty was seized, and, ividi three-and-twBin^ 
guineas, he fled lo France. His sous had now a very fair prospcci 
of starving, when, by a turn of fortune, their grandfather, the man 
of thcpoiii|iadoursuit, died, and left, die two younger brothers nine 
hundred pounds a-|>iece, on wliieh they took chambers in tlie 
Temple. The author evidently delight-* in the privations of that 
time> and describes liis regular dinner as ' kidneys roasted od a 
fork, potatoes boOed in a shaoitiff-pol, and a small quantity of 
weak punch in a cracked basin.' He must have had poverty in 
those matters, for five shillings would have rectified his wnole 
" flina. 

A grand step in his career was now at hand. We saw Lewis in 
the Copper Captain,' and was, an well he might be, delighted - 
ith the spirit and brilliancy of that incomparable actor. He con- ^ 
eeived the idea of writing a comedy for him, and produced " The 
Dramatist," perhaps his chef d'iBuvre. In ilirec months he waited 
on Const the barrister with its outline. Const pointed out some 
errors, and at the end of the year it was presented to Harris at 
Covent Garden, by whom it was refused as too wild; — to Dnir; 
Lane, when Sheridan also found it too wild; and to the Hsj- 
market, when Colman also found it loo loild. ' I told Andrews " 
that it must be his, for "there wsa gaiipotcder in every line." ' The 
unfortunate ivriter took it back, and began his experiments m 
popular titles by calhng it " Crim Con:" this too was repelled. 
But Reynolds had made an accidental acquaintance with Major 
Topham, proprietor of " The World" newspaper, and his play was 
allowed by Harris to be performed for the benefit of Mrs. Wells, a 
moderate actress, but a celebrated beauty, peculiarly favoured bj 
Topham. It should be known, that a play brought out for % 
benefit makes its appearance under the worst aspect possible ; for. 
if the manager had thought it worth any tiling, he vvoidd have 
brought it out for his own advantage. Disaster still hung upon 
the writer. At the green-room reading all the actors pronounced 
" that it would fail." Lewis, the Atlas of the piece, disliked his 
part ; and even Reynold,-* felt his heart sick. But, on the night of 
acting, Lewis was more than himself, and the play triumphed: — 
it was repeated. — The receipts on the tliird night were one hundred 
and eighty poimds ; (we are to recollect that the house was nol 
half its present size). The expenses of the night were one hundred 
pounds, (they are now two) and Reynolds walked home to astonish 
his brother and his nurse with the sight of eight ten pound notes'. 
This implies a promptitude in the treasury which later times have 
deplorably tbrgoiten. Harris subsequently gave him two hundred 
pounds for his two other rughts, and promised him the profitsof the 
twenty-first: an arrangement for which Harris deserves immortal 
laudation, as it was the original precedent for giving a fijurthnigbt 
iQ authorship. — " Esto perpetiia ;" Reynolds at length, thus risBig 
a little in the world, paid a visjt to TogWm, 'vi\'^\uiQ&, wWta he 



Reynolds' Life and Times. 305 

Diet £lwes, the miser. Topham was a man miade up of singularity ; 
be wore a grotesque dress, wrote grotesque farces^ and lived a gro- 
tesque life; but nis true honours with posterity will be founded on 
bis being the inventor of high waisied breeches, those of thecotem- 
porary world being ' so very short, that half the day, and a whole 
liand, were entirely employed' in keeping them in statu qtto. 
Many a sounding name lives on less authientic claims. The eccen- 
jic major was oi no. trivial use to the industrious author, who intro- 
luced him into as many comedies as he could ; and finally com- 
putes the value of his friend, in this point, at a thousand pounds 
slear stage profit ; congratulating himself with infinite coolness on 
baving lived in a period when such characters were to be had. 
' Had I written,' says he, ' during the present day, I must have 
starved ; for the comic satirist has now (unless he resort to. foreign 
aid from VaudeviUes, &c.) only one character to commence and 
conclude his stock with — the duU, cold, artificial dandy/ 

The king ordered the " Dramatist" for his visit to the theatre : 
this revived the popularity of the play ; and the prince, his present 
majesty, went on the twenty-first night, which produced to the 
author £225 : a vast sum in those days of low prices. . 

These volumes abound in fragments of practical wisdom, which, 
however oddly expressed^ the young and romantic should lay to 
heart. Reynolds had gone to Cheltenham for relaxation from all 
tlds scribblmg, and at the watering-place fell in love, as is the cus- 
tom. One morning, as he was signing over the departure of his 
bst love, an old lady thus consolea him : 

** B^re her carriage reaches Gloucester^ all tenderness for yoa will be 
kmped out of her ; and, at the ball to-night, all your love for her will be 
imced ont of yoa." 

He m^As, ' The old lady was right.' — Experientia docet, 

An^ws is, after all, the curiosity of the book. . Giddy, humour- 
some, and vain, a thorough green-room man, he yet continued to 
iDanage his powder mills with the diligence of a complete man of 
bnsineas; giving huge dinners and parties to persons of rank, 
fl^IIionaries, and literati, whom he entertained separately, and all 
with 'equal splendour. He loved a guinea, and entered into close 
cojDipacta wiui Reynolds for his share of the profits of some trivial 
theatrical pieces, which they had compounded in partnership. 
He ooold.lend money to a liberal amount; while, as Reynolds 
sajS|p ^)^ never ceased to complain of a dramatic writer, who had 
lied jbp JPraj9(ce|^ owing him three guinea^** 

" .Cbra^t^ ^^ ^^ kmA. seem to have been provided for the use 
9f . itft^aftaPt .play maker. A we^dthy firiendj^ an M.P., had invited 
IfMft ^ JVPf A xQpnth at Brighton : aflter a fortnight Reynolds was 
pQllljpdlw tp^ to town. His opulent frieud ^ce^ \v«sc^csv>&s 

a^jd urged Uoi bacl: /to cheer him wim biB aoclety.^ Kx ^^ ^xA 
of the montbrbis entertainer handed him au acco\xwV,^«gvcv^»^^oa5t 

VOL. IT, -jt 



Fi Jamaica. 

of eveiy description. This, howcviT, is the burllien of Mr. Wil- 
liams's argument. He blames and caricalures the missionanei 
for attempting to instruct the negroes, contends that the latter an 
not so generally or so openly abandoned lo viee as the corrupted 
portion of the inhabitants of European countries, and then con- 
cludes, that it would be extremely desirable to allow the slaves to 
remain as tbey are, unrestrained in their Ubertinage, uninformed 
ofthe God who created them, unclieered by the hope of any rewards, 
save those wliich a relaxation from labimr can bestow, and unchecked 
by the fear of any punishment, save thai which the lash of die 
overseer can inflict ! Like most of the advocates upon his side of 
the question, Mr. Williams goes too far, and produces an irresist- 
ible conviction that the welfare of the slaves never enters into his 
contemplation, and that indeed the only feelilig which gives energy 
to his sentiments, and warmth to his language, is that arising from 
the sordid, selfish, contemptible fear of pecuniary loss, or- the i. 
equally despicable calculation of gain. ,>= 

We cannot too strongly condeuui the air of licentiousness, ihai 
appears lo characterise almost every portion of this volume, in which :.' 
the jnoral improvement of the negroes is spoken of. The author ^, 
not only laughS at every prospect, that may be entertained for ij 
reforming their habits, but glosses over their vices as if ihey were ^ 
mere personal weaknesses, which called rather for s^inpathy than ^ 
amendment. Without at all afi'eciing to set ourselves np as cen- '^ 
SOTS of ihe morals of Jamaica, or to prescribe any very rigid riile> > 
against the system of manners which seems lo prevail there, we ^ 
cannqt but express our opinion that if Mr. Williams represents t. 
generally the sentiments of the West India resident proprieton, ^ 
which he frequently declares to be the case, they stand as much in " 
need of correction, nay, of that wholesome chastisement whith ■- 
adversity can inflict upon them, as the unfortunate negroes ihem- ^ 
selves. In order to justify thl-i opinion, we shall extract part of a '^ 
conversation, which the author heard at the taWe of a barrister in ^ 
Kingston ; the company was composed of solicitors, merchants, . 
and planter*. .. 

' Tlic rcsolutiiuis of llie Uoiisb of Assembly were regularly criticised: * 
one thought them right, another good, a tliird strong, a fourth mint aud t- 
wttter, a fifth would haye had them " sgicak daggers," and hilo'as well as ^ 
show their teeth : — one person only ventured to say thai the English par- - 
liament had a right lo legislate for the colonies, and he dr^w a bo^ oF a 
foes on himself immediately. He observed, that tb^ cmsneipatM's'Wl « 
iu the teetb of the planters, imi slave-owaere,! that .tlie,^ii(|g};v?By"Wi! , 
goveriiad'and tried bylava which they had no yioic^.in ;eiiacJ;ii(^.., ,Tbts 
was ao' ualucky Remark to blunder on, fur erery;0|iQ had,aui^sTw,|iW' i 
" Do not the SairUe wish to impose lawa odus'S , Is \% .uot, their object • 
lo make laws for us, in which we are to have no voice whatovec^i Ace 
we represeated in the ^glish paiWaiaca^ \i-j au<{ one of the roUcn 
bwrnigbmoagen who wnuld legiaVate ot uSeci W \e^^MA W vh\..l 



Tour in Jamaica". 309' 

^hiiik the English 'govefnmcnt has had enough of legislating for colonies.' 
The Americans have hammered a little more sense into Johnny Bull's 
head^ than will suffer him to come to points even with the Creoles. The 
English aristocracy laugh at us and our resolutions, no doubt, and think 
of us as of saucy children ; but it is no proof of wisdom or discretion to 
despise even a feeble enemy." 

* Then' followed a chorus, I grieve to record It, of execration and dis- 
gust against ''the ignorant^ infatuated, hypoeriticar reptiles thM were 
gnawing the vitals bt the colonists." * — pp. 225 — ^227. 

Then follows a long tirade against Messrs. Buxton, Macauley, 
Wilberforce, and Stephen, so dasgusting for its injustice and acri- 
mony, that we cannot stain our pages with any part of it. But 
we must give the conclusion of the scene, as it is a good index to. 
thd character of these colonial tyrants, wUo sit in such iniquitous 
judgment upon the motives and conduct of Englishmen, truly 
deserving of that name, by their manly virtues, and uicir unbending 
integrity of principle. 

' Thus, adds Mr. Williams, they continued their carousei as far as I 
may guess, long after Nunncz had conducted me» not td my lodging- 
house, but to a ball of persons of colour, something in the 'style of that 
trhich i had seen in Westmoreland. Here, I imagine^ they uiere all free 
people, mostly mulattoes and quadroons, with several European gentlemen 
among them, who enjoyed themselves in dancing and plulaudering with 
their partners, many of whom were really lovely, beautiml 'creatures. 

' Nonnez tells me that libertinage prevails anK)ng this class Xo' ad great 
an' extent as ajD^qng tlie dress-makers in the metropolis of England;' but 
(Fithou^t ^ny,,4eo€it#, The pcoj)lo consider such connections, {lerfectly. 
respectably, ajijd, even necessary in a society where men come to' tnake 
FortanieS^ nOlj tp settle themselves for life. I ow.n I could have f^Bded 
Dayself at the court of Calypso, where there were so many lovely Creatures, 
ivithont vanity or aAectation, replete with every attraction of youth, grace, 
ind' amkbiKty.^— pp. 232, 253. 

The9^ passages speak for themselves. Proflieacy reigns trium- 
phant iuJam^ai and, untU it be reformed, theBritish Parliament 
will expect in vain the co-operation of the planters, in. the execu- 
don of the plans of amelioration, which it has so frequently pro- 
posed! While upon this subject,' we . cannot forbear from laying 
before oiir Readers an account of the sentiments entertained, and 
of the, prgctiije^ pursued by Mr. Matthews, dn extensive planter in 
Jaip^qa,.)^^,apQount manifestly in complete harmony with the 

opini?w^f|SWj^fTy^W . . 

"A^^lffiflg'^'to hitb (Mr. Mathews), Jamaica i« to be wboUy fnee, to 
te^emfttHJi^^ from' the tyranny or England and fcbe> hiu»bug of the 
iKkififtiC^ '^'He^%kii- litt to this doctrine, by having nothing in iaisr house 
lilfitdiWthe^|#odh€^of^nglbndi except where he cannot possibly arroid 
It'' tLf§Wi^;^^M^, oil, and all his provisions, arc trvLOS^tV^iT^Mi^t > >&& 
bafl'hefllM3r^fto?^-/M>i4i^, cider, wines,- fish- satices, hot- \\b»xa%v&cQi!^.;^vMir 
)BBd. Hh phtcf is thunvthctnred - ftxim dollare, \)y ou^ oi \tt& ^k'i^V- 



Tour in Jamaica. 

keepers, who has been cdiicaled by b goldsmith. His clothes are madcin 
the island, though of British cloth. His furniture haa been made by Ul 
own carpenters ; his beds stuffed with his own silk cottoo. His pen (or 
mtate) prodnccs a superabundance of maize and guinea com, (the laUir 
yieldin)^ the finest flour in the world) rice, if required, and every species \ 
of the bread kind in profusion. He hns a handsome carriage maite on hit 
own premiBes, and, with the exception of a few tools, he is as iudependent 
of all the wants which England supplies to others, as if England bad 
ceased to exist. Even the tools might be made of the iron of the country, r 
of which 1» has had a small field-piece cast. Of gunpowder he wants r 
little, but he saya that the caves inhabited by bats will yield abiiodann f 
of aaltjielre. He showed me a macbet, or cutlass, made by one of his own i 
blacksmiths, of a very excellent tcmi>er, and bows and arrows of the moat j' 
diabolical iuyeotion that can be conceived. No ship of war, no fleet *' 
could escape destruction, if once within their range. The arrow's are I 
made of hollow reeds, lilled with some combustibles mixed with nitre and { ' 
resinous guma, and take firo on slrilfing the object, at which they are i, 
directed, by the percussion of their points. Tbcy can be discharged fron " 
cross'bows, or oven guns. The points resemble the detonating tabes ^ 
invented by Joseph Manton for his fowling-pieces, with a spike at the *" 
uad, and a button to prevent them penetrating too far. The button also 
causes the psrcussion to take place, which igaitcs a grain or two of fulml- 
uatiog powder, and the arrow is instantly in a blaze. Xiet a fleet a 
come within, the, raach of a thousand such arrows. auJ we should s 
havoa.second battje of Lopaiito; at least I judge so from the eij 
mentsi aaw. tried. with a couple of ihem.' — pp. 65—767. 

Another of the island radicals is for setiding members toJ 
congress of the United States, atid for making Jamaica a dq 
dency of that republic. Bnt the questiot) of separation fi 
England,, whatever may be the subsequent destiny of the colony, ■- 
seems tp b.c one already in a great measure decided, sb far as tee « 
resident , proprietors are concerned, if the emAncipatibn of the ' 
negroes be peisevered in by Parliament. We need hardly' say ' 
that threaW, and even preparations for the accomplishment of tliat * 
separdtiofl, have little in them Lo excite alarm in our mind^. Wc '•- 
have alluded to them in order to show the violent extremes to which 
the planters seem inchncd, rather than yield to the propoaed change , 
in t!ie condition of the slaves. They may indeed retard and em- ' 
barrass the progress of emancipation, but we have no fear thai 
ttev can eventually defeat it. 

tVith respect to the execution of that part of Mr, WiDiams's 
book whiqh is dedicated to the description of his tour, and of the 
pectdiair. m (loners, and the ineidents which fell under his notice in 
the CQune (>f it, we regret that we cannot spizak very highly. His 
sketches are in general sprightly, but they are at thii same liine so 
much in the style of caricature, that their fidelity may be ques- 
tioned. In his remarks there is a tone of levity, whki though we 
must admit that it is sometimes amviMnc, and never iU-intended, 
mL»rit oS'TO 'wwiV *A \afcfa^BBt. 



lid sotra -= 

1 



Tour in Javuiicn. 311 

occasionally mto a mode of expression that is mach more familiar 
tx> those who frequent the Uirf and the ring, than to gentlemen of 
literary habits. We think it due, however, in fairness to the author, 
to enable the reader to judge for himself of the general character 
of the work. The following description of a negro*house and its 
contents is evidently a favourable one. 

' The house is about forty feet loDg and almost eighteen wide, built of 
boards and covered with fan-palms, divided into five apartments, of which 
the principal is eighteen feet square^ This is the hall ; the other apart* 
meats lead from it ; three serving for sleeping rooms, and the fourth for a 
sort of pantry. There is a door at each end of this hall through which 
jthe smoke escapes when it is necessary to boil the pot : at no other time 
is there occasion for fire. When I entered, I saw a negro woman squat- 
ting on the floor attending the cookery of her husband's dinner, which 
was simmering in an iron pot, and consisted of ochro and cocos, picked 
crabs, and salt fish, with a bit of salt pork. The lady was peeling a few 
plantains to roast, and the lord of the mansion was inhaling the fumes of 
tobacco from a short junko pipe^ as he lolled at his ease in his hammock, 
saspended from one of the rafters to within two feet of the floor. There 
was a substantial deal table in the hall, with four rush-bottom chairs and 
a wooden bench, over which hung a b::nch of com, and a machet or cut* 
lass ; above these was a shelf with a range of white plates and a few 
glasses, and above these hung several pieces of salt fish, and a good 
bunch of plantains. There was a basket of yams near the table, as if 
just brought in, and on it a coco-nut shell with a handle to ladl6 water or 
soup. Several tin pans hung from one of the beams, and among them a 
large net full of cocos. There was an oil-j^ir in one corner to hold water, 
and. a hoe aiid bill-hook in another, beside a large gourd with a hole in it, 
which serves as, a musical instrument, and is called a drum. There was 
likewise a|[ombay, and a bonja which is much like a guitar, and several 
calabashes were ranged along the beams, containing sugar or coffee. I 
must pot forget to mention three young children, fat and sleek as moles, 
that were inlaying about the house an4 garden, which contained plaintain 
suckers, an alligator pear tree, mangos, two or three coco-nut trees, 
orange trees, a Few coffee bushes, and many other fruits and vegetables, 
and a pine-apple fence separated it from the adjoining gilrden. There 
was a pigstye in one corner, occupied by a sow and her family. This is a 
portrait <^ one of the inferior cottages, some of the best having jealousies 
and ptaszas, with terrass floors. Every garden has a pigstye, a^d the 
poultry-roost at a little distance from the house.* — ^pp. 100—102. 

It is the fashion among the negroes to bury their dead by mo(m^ 
lightj, with the help of torches ; on these occasions sometimes the 
funcjm. seipace. i oftener it is liot even thought of. 

The lyjlpTyin^'fe' rather a new reading of that sublime ctrflection 
of DM^yei^^j as U wp j^^ oiit by a negro, Ti^hQe he held a Wble 
]>eiqre,hii9i.^e,Y[r^g side upwaii^ " 

* ^'De» focftabb/d, we gather together dis face congre^^tiooi beoausA it 
hornbla amoBg al] mea not to take ddight la ha^d fox NWi\.o\VQft»%« V\^N^ 
aod uppetit0, like brute mule, dal hah no under^tiudVa^^ VTVik^tv ^^ "cn^^ 



313 



Tour in Jamaica. 




cut down like gui[iea grass, be womhip no mure Buy body, biit'gib all him 
irorld'a good to de debbiil ; and Garamighty tell him soul must come Dp ^ 
into heab'ii, wbcre notting but glorio. What de use of fighting widbeut '^ 
atFeesus? Rise up all nod eat and driuk, because we die yesterday, no [' 
80 to- mu crow. Who show you mystery 1 Who uebba sleep, but twinkle _ 
him jeye till de trumpet peakt Who baptize you, and gib you victory oba ^~ 
de debbil'^ flesh ? Qld Adam, bclubb'd ! — he bury when a child, and de ^-^ 
new BUin rise up wlien he old. Breren, you see dat dam roaeal Dollar ',— [^ 
he no Chrisfinn ; he no Jew, no missionary, uo Turk, for true. You bh '~. 
him laugh fAbdallah denied it] — when he go to hell he die, and neAbK 
gnash him teeth, and worms can't nyam him. Breroo, all Christil 
white and black man, all one colour — Sambo and mulatto — w 
dan another, no maasa, and no fum fum — plenty o' grog. So, bM 
Garamighty lake do dead man, and good night '." ' — pp. 105, 106. 

We had marked for quotation another negro eermon, veryn 
in this style, bnt it is so mach ubscured in the Creole dialect,j 
it woold scarcely be intelligible to the general reader. Mr. ^ 
hams) in tiie course of fais tour, visited Bath, whieh, like oar -j 
city of the same name, is remarkable for its medicinal watere-.J 
his aecouDt of the accommodations wliich are to met with I 
be correct^ they are a:ny thine but comfortahle. There is i 
humbwr in the description of them. 

' The town or village is embosomed in trees, and surrounded by in 
taiDS, which supply it picniiftilly w-ith water. I was dirocted to the 1^ 
of a white lady, who I ivas told received gaests, at pensiOTiers, amdoid 
drink the waters, and entertained them at so much per diem ;' b\it,T 
was uncertain of my way, and ray valet did not kiiow the plactf, I i 
several enquiries before I found out the object of my search. 
lady^ standing at the door of a rambliug old house, seemed to s ^ 
her looks that she guessed 1 was hunting out this halt'-and'halFH 
tavern ; and, as her physiognomy invited a nearer approach, 1 saluta 
and a,sked for Mrs, White. " She lives here," was the reply : 
dismount and walk in V The offer was not to be refused, "dad Lll 
horeV "Yes, certainly," cried the old woman, hurrying to the pin 
" come in, sir, I pray, ont of the rain." The raiu eame down <i 
shiuglea like a shower of marbles or bullets, as I entered this antiqudl 
dilapidated mansion, where the first objeuls that presented tbeijiselvW^ 
my eyes (after the ladies) were all Iho crockery of the estaUishfl 
ranged iu.rows to catch the water that streamed through the roo^ !(■ 
a most curious exhibition ; cracked and disjointed fragments of one Oi 
grafted on stocks of nuotiicr, some lied round with xtncsofipnclftU 
and red tape, that seemed to have suffered .a degredatioD frou; moral 
nourable scrvipa. The raiu fell bo iast into Iheso reservoirs, /illa| 
causeda splashifigi fill over the room or ball.iuid'l would tain.^ 
with m^ mnbrellOf which t opened nnd hoialed for the purposeif "uicm 
the amusemeiUt of Miss, who hud the kiodneas tft give me a wash fqeiT 
red half of my face, while the old lady begged to know what I would' U 
foe my dinuer, .1 leftthe office of cateriug to heriasishe told u 
hare anything I liked ; only excepting Wack^wdditt^s, which I tutd lui'' 'i_. 
/ disliked — luyihiog else, no Taattei .Ni\>ftt< w»)i^ mawaif.TOtea '^'y%j>iiiAi^« 



Tour in Jamaica. 313. 

yxdssL, I think the gentleman would like — a fowl-^oh yes, a fowl and 
me ctoap." " Pepper pot, anything in the world, madam.'* The old 
dy'wettt to the opposite side of the hall, where another door opened into 
back piazza, and, hy some enchantment of corn or eloquence, enticed 
id cJEtught a cock that had taken shelter there from the rain. .This she 
!gan twirling round and round by the neck, standing all the while with 
ir hack towards me, and singing the *^ Blue bells of Scotland/' to drown 
le cries of the dying chanticleer. Miss had been dommibsioned, I sup- 
ose, to create a Ar^Ksioii of my^yes and ears 'from the ceremony of this 
imrder, for she placed herself between me ahd her mother, and ^flSared me 
IB old volume of Roderick Randomi in which she called my attention to 
tte plates. 

^i^er waiting the proper time, the soup entered between the sable 
paws of little Kitty, oozing through the cracks of a white slop basin, all 
terest of the dinner-set being in requisition -for the rain. It was. as black 
II ink, as hlack as Kitty, and tasted of nothing) hat pepper and water. I 
im obliged to decline it, which I was loth 'to do* for fear of oiEending my 
^tess, and because I expected to see nothing ^Ise but poor. Aleetryon, 
'Vho I knew must be as tough as a halter from age. . .He followed of coarse, 
[kiled as black as the soup, of which I am afraid he had been the ba^is, 
;fle sole material, and i should have . had a bapy^n day ,hjat, for half a 
Ittsen eggs that Miss Louisa had the humanity to offer u^, i^^jiti slice of 
^teh cheese as hard as Pharoah's heart.' — pp.247 — 2$2. 

We have already given our author *s description of ^^eg]|;97^ou5e 
md its furniture. The following extract , . fQi^jp^yH Ifii ymAUsioQ of 
fkbest class in ,the i$(land> and present;} also a piict^re«6t' the.eyery 
1% life of those who inhabit it. . . ,:i 

'Tbe house stands on an eilevation, perharps a huiHlred and-' Ififly feet 
^6/ the sea, backed by everlasting woods and wildernesses^ eommand- 
f«most etichanting view of the two harhours of Port Antonio, part of 
hp^WDyTitctifield, and agrand expanse of ocean to the liortb. The 
consists ofianentrance-hallv with sleeping chambers tin each 
1^ lind this halMeistdB t6 a piazza ahout fifty or sixty feet kmg," which 
''•the northern facade of the house.- At one end 'of the" piazza is 
a chamber, and at th^ other end a dining apartmtatol* hall, 
we aire aocustouied to take our tneals. The piazza is about fifteeti 
furnished with a few chairs made of cherry-tre^i^^d,^'a''i^- 
<a backgammon board, and chessmen. The furiiiture^ of ^^e^xiiifttig* 
is^uch of the same character, except a i^et <)f iahlest, a' sidelboard, 
^a'dozen of chairs^, all of mahogany, and the ^fiiauolr^kttll' contains - 
'hMi^oh^i The i»leeping-rooms arefuiriilslfed i& ^sUnS'^jin^le 
»w hedAead;with^a^mattra8s atid a j^wtf df>iA^ieets,'eMv^^ ^^\f 
Imlllwir net to'keep off the Dra6quitOfl^,^a db«6t^ldraWik^riu(d'tvv^ 
laii^, i^ny tleo^n^ents of each apiMid^t. '^TfiiMfid'il^^ifriyw 
ifaiinthie<i|oudi:aid0'ef the house, too^lKrt W4iilljM)iCl£d1i\$llr(!&ft<iii 
ip'tadd-'the d£ees. are all detaohedv 'Nat<ii4i''4£r'b' /^^^[diii^'trut 
frbn^Ue aute^aMd rain. ' Inmaiiy^cMises'lhef^bHn^'ttirtftfDtMcMkfd,^ 
lii on)the>groimdbflooi^, which i^getteH^'bfSLtyU^WilBfBi^^'^^ 
Uattr^ses. ■ .. ^'i ■■ ' ■.^•- ' •- »'•'' ♦ - "v"- 

*'^&,m a breakfast of strong CO ffee,hnnnfi a rank taateoi ^jnX ltQ*k\s«^»% 



¥r 



Lamballt'a Secrtl Memoirs. 



loo Dew, roasted plantains, siid excellent cocob, lubricated with salt butt 
ter, my old friend takes a ride to insjiect lib negroes at work, or tc fatu 
the uewg at the Bay, as the town is called. He iodulgeB in a iiap(t 
siestft) sometimes from one to two, and promenades or plays a gatne d 
«hess in the piiizia till three, when diuner ia anuounced; and then aso- 
ther promeoade or ride till dusk tills up our day. He goes to bed at (^)it 
o'clock, and rises at five. One day is much like another, except vantd 
by the appearftnce of an occasional tisitor, who generally stayed the nigfaL 
In bad weather, we read plays, navels, and newspapers, play at piquet or 
backgammon, ogle crcrysail through the telescope, and the old gentleoau 
smokes a segar at duek, as he says, to drive away the musijuitoE. We 
are wailed on by a black butler and two footmen, who wear each a sturl 
and white trowsers, with a short blue jacket. The sable females, iriit 
make the beds and polish the fluors, are often clad in gayer and Dion 
expensive apparel, very neat and clean, but none of the servants, male « , 
female, know the pleusures of shoes or stockings. At night the fcmalo 
retire to their own houses or to those of their parents, no accommodaliaH " 
beiag thought of for servants ; the men seek the abode of their wivef^ /^ 
and the waiting-boys lie on the floorin the hall, or at their master's doon.' . " 
— pi>. 314—317. 

Mr. Williams has not favotired us with any statistical debiiH i, _ 
and saya scarcely any thing of the present state of the plantations, ij 
In the early part of his book he promised some observations on L 
(he naturd capabilities of Jamaica, bnt he seems ne^er to have L. 
thought further on the subject. Three or four hthographic prinESi ^ 
intended we presume as illustrations, are scattered through the '' 
volume. They arc among the most wretched specimens of tba! ^ 
ait which we have seen since its invention. * 



IT. IX. Secret Memairt of the Royoi Family of France, during On *f 

" solution ,- toM originai and autJtenlic JJnecdotoB of coniempotan ' 

..ereigng, and diftinguished PeraonJi of tliat eveny'ul period, «* ' 

■^ puiliehed froM the joutmU, letters, and co^vers^iotte of the 7^ 
■Priwiesg iMmballe. By a Lady of Bank, in the confideDtial serTioe 

liqf that unfortunate Princess. In S vols, 8ro. ISg. London. Trent- 1' 

tel and Wurtz. 1826. V 

is nnquesdonabtv one of the most aiFeCting and most valuable ^ 
contributions to the history of the French revolution, which we , 
have yet seen. In point of interest and copiousness of detail itis> i 
we think, Buperior to the memoirs of Madame Campon ; it correcK , 
several of her statements, and supplies many ciuious ' and impoitaal 
tactB *ith which even that faithfu) attendant was whoUy unac- 
quainted. " It is occupied chiefly in the personal history of Maiie 
Antoinette, and proves beyond all doubt that that linfoitunale 
oueen exercised a much more active and disastrous ioSuence on 
the events wJiich ultimately led 10 \\\e Ao\)inSa,\V ot K«c throne, than 
Mpartinl bistoriam, at least, covvW ^■^ issa""'""^ " " ' * ' ^" 




Lamballe's Secret Memoirs. 315 

believe. Throughout tJie journal of the Princess Lamballe, though 
It ^ows with constant and warm aftection for her illustrious miB- 
fress, and holds her up to the admiration of poEtcrity as the most 
ftyured and irreproachable woman that ever wore a crown, tiiere 
p quite enough to show that when she found the storm approaching 
ne took the helm into her outi hands, and, by her determination 
|d keep the vessel in its former course, urged it upon those breakers 
Ky which it was at last overwhelmed. The king was, from habit, 
ud from the weakness of his capacity, so much under the control 
■f his consort, that though he made concessions at different stages 
m the revolution, without her consent, it was easy to see, that tor 
pat Yvry reason they were not so be depended upon. She maiii- 
iBined, to the time of her death, the true Austrian pride of domi* 
jhion, and amongst her confidential friends never exhibited the 

gl^^t disposition to accommodate the interests of the throne to the 
|lisl wants and rights of the people. Every measure to which she 
loay have acceded, which had any tendency in that direction/ 
Bppears to have been nothing more than an expedient, for the 
purpose of averting tlie dangers that impended over her family; 
■at irt secret she clung to every hold that might enable her, at a 
W6r^ favourable opportunity, to recover to its utmost extent the 
hncient, absoliiio authority, so dear to her own recollections, and so 
Ifssential to her wishes for the future splendour of her sou, 
\ ' "Ob, sire!" she exclaimed to the kin^, when a riotmts mob was 
hOQttng to him at Versailles to return to Paris. — " Oh, sire! why am I 
ot animated with the courage of Maria Theresa t Let me go, with my 
children, to Ihc national assembly, as she did to tho Hun^riaa senate. 
With my imperial brother, Joseph, in her arms, and Leopold in her womb, 
"When Charles the Seventh of Bavaria had deprived her of all her German 
dominions, and she had already written to the Duchess of Lorraine to 
brenare her an aayluin, not knowing whore she should he deSivcrod of the 
kMeidoa chttrgc she was then bearing I But I, like the mother of the 
lucBcchi, lik« Cornelia, more esteemed for my birth than for my marriage, 
iW the wife of the king of France, and I see we shall be murdered in our 
,kds for the waot of our exertions!" ' 

What a beautiful .spirit of disdain flashes through this majeFtic 
[ teproach ! It pourtrays, within a small compass, the character of 
Marie Antoinette, and betrays that iataX adherence to the pride 
of binb, and to habits of supremacy, which oo mifortunes coidd 
eradicate from hur bosom. Yet was she too much of a ivoman to 
usume the fieour and Bteadiness which her secret course of poUcy 
deiUBtlded. ^he bad none of liioee high and overpowering talents, 
wliich wonld have been ncceasary to carry her victorious through 
aicfc ii crisis as that by whiclL she was destroyed. She was too 
piMWcientious to incur even Uie imputatiou of erintc ; her religious, 
as well as her natuml feelings, forbade her to be aau^aiiwrj ■, ^fc» 
empire of her pcmmal Hasdiiation once depaited, vW s*ie.^\x«. "v^ 



1 
I 






LambalU'n Secret Memoirs. 

mized parent," catching at every resource that wasoffetedw 
'lout looking to cod sequences, liatening to every counsel 4* 
out a glimpsie of safely, without being able to coniemiit* 
peal perils that were before her, or to provide aiie(]ii»t# 
list tfaem. Many drcumstMices conspired to bring about W 
ifih revolution ; but it is only necessary to read the jourosi* 
Princess Lamballe, in order to be convinced, that if Mw 
itoinettc had not been the queen of Louis XVI. ihcce ««* 
IV e been no Philippe Ega!it6, no guillotine, no republic. 
liW* own thai we were not prepared for the enlarged and- 
ly add — statesmanlike views, which characterize not '"' 
3ai itself, but the comments and additions of the 
' to wliom we areindebted for this valuable publication, 
princess, who was the daughter of Prince Carignan, was ap] 
superintendent of Marie Antoinette's household soon afl 
became queen of France, and Irom that lime to the period 
i^gath she fontinued, with some few intervals of absence, in 
1, during the alanua of the Tcvohition, in almost hourly 
e upon her royal mistress. They lived together upon t 
most tender triendsliip, a circumstance that reflects the 
faoDOur upon both parties ; the princess, who appears to havf 
endowed with a soiind judgment, with talents of a superior 
and with one of the purest and noblest hearts that ever am 
a woman, obtained a marked influence over the queen fro| 
very origin of their connection. But until the worst of 
Lamballe was a favourite of the people, because it was knoi 
she was no mere courtier who flattered the credulous ear of 
but always gave her advice for the public good, and had firi 
and dignity of charactfr, which conspired with her high birth and 
virtuous manners to elevate her motives beyond the reach of auf- 
picioo. 'I 

The account given of herself by the fair editor (Madame SoIaHe) h 
is extraordinary, if notindecd romantic. She informs us, vatlier my* l_ 
riously, that ' from her binh and those who were the cause of it (had ^ 
it not been, from political motives, kept from her knowledge), in ptrint t 
of interest, she ought to iiave been very independent,' and ihai i 
she was indebted tor her resources in early life ' to his grace the \ 
late Duke of Norfolk, and Lady Mary Duncan.' She was placed \ 
for her education in a convent at Paris, where her musical talents ^ 
accidentally attracted the attention of the Princess LaJnballe, who 
took her itader her patronage'. The youtig protegfie was fouad 
skilled'in thoIltUian, German, French, and Enghtth languages, 
the latter being lier native tongxie, and during the progress of the 
revbluBonshe wa9em(floyed on several contideniial mWions. Her 
sex aSbrded' he? maiij faeililies for the exeeution of tliose niis- 
Mons'; bulJ'wheh' occasion rendered it necessary, she did not h«a- 
tate to assume inale attire ; and, s\\e seem?., ^iwvn ?on\e motive w 
>r, to have 'had a partii-ig^jy ^j g^tttMice teE-'J^'gaWaaA <ji «■ 



LanAaUe's Secret Memoirs. 317 

imer. In such a disguise she sometimes attended the debates 
le national assembly, and took notes of them for the informa- 
of the royal family. Sometimes she wandered as a forlorn 
r in the gardens of the Tuilleries, with a book in her hand, 
iBg for a signal from Lamballe's window to enter the palace 
prepare for a secret service ; often she appeared there with all 
paraphernalia of a milliner ; and it is a remarkable proof of 
talent for intrigue — ^if indeed her missions do not deserve a 
ler and more meritorious character — that notwithstanding the 
lance of the police, and the .more Jealous espionage of the 
bins, she was never discovered or impeded in any of her 
lerous journeys. Much of the corre^>ondence which Marie 
dinette carried on with her relatives in Austria, Piedmont, and 
', and with her friends in England, was entrusted to the young 
lishwoman, who seems to have loved that ill-starred soverd^n 
fit to idolatry. . The Journal now before us she says she le- 
jd from the Princess Lamballe, shortly before the death of that 
.ble person in 1792; and though the assertion comes to -us 
)ut the sanction of the editor's name, yet it is impossible, 
the whole tenor of the work, to feel die least doubt as to its 
^nticitv. She was induced to prepare it for publication upon 
dng Madame Campan's Memoirs, which she considers as in 
Y respects inaccurate and defective, though not intentionally 
s she nowhere /questions that lady's fidelity in the relation of 
ts which came under her special observation. As to the £acts 
d by the editor to Lamballe's journal, they seem to have been 
iilly . collected from the conversations of that princess, and 
other equally satisfactory sources of information, 
le reader is aware that the marriage of Marie Antoinette to 
)aUphin of France arose entirely from political motives. • It 
he object of the empress mother, Maria Theresa, to ally her- 
idth ifrance, for the purpose of inducing Louis XV. to assist 
in recovering the provinces which the king of Prussia had 
Qtly wrested from her ancient dominions ; and at the* same 
to support her against the rising power of the North, vested 
then was in the daring hands of Catharine the Second. -The 
hinwjuj never even thought of; the . beauty of Marie Antw- 
: was intended to influence the king, and the plan was warmly 
arted.by Choiseul, then minister, and by Madame de Ppmpa- 
, It was however looked upon with great Jealousy, by the 
is daughters, : by the court, the Gabiuet,^ and- th^ nation at 
:;i and i%hat jealousy rather increased than <d(miBisbed> after 
icceaaion of the dauphiness to the .throne* .Hereducatiopi had 
limited:; sh^was free and lively in ,ii^ mannfits, iaad> jiike 
Grerman princesses of her time, wa8extreiQelyfoad>Qf |Nivate 
liqala^in which she frequently . peiforfaed> am'^^hii^lvb^c^dsssQk^ 
xmree of. much, calumny against her. .> \3iei ^xi^dp\fi^>^xv i^'t 
Vcity in her attire, and her hostility to the Tpom^pwaa dLefis»vs5fit 



319 LnmialWt Secret Mtmairk. . ^u 

of Frtdeh iti(|uettc, jjrocurcd her a host of enemies among the ^ 
beaUB and lacUes of the \*ieille cour. " Thank heaven," she axi 
lo sa_v. when she flung off hi.r state robes and ornaments, " I an '_ 
oul of harness!" She one day in merriment called the precise, 
autiqualeil, and systematic, Madame de Noailles, Madame Eti- 
quette, The title followed her to the grave : the satire never wo "'. 
iorgiven. A considerable time elapsed before the dauphin caor ~ 
Bummated hia marriage j and it is a curious fact thai, during tW ,. 
interval, many cabals were at work for the puroose of sending •. 
the Austrian princess back to Vienna, and that they -were chieSj i^ 
frustrated by Louis XV., who e:ntertained a secret passion for ha, ^ 
and took some step with the view of making her ms own consort- u 
It was also during this peri'>d that the king gave orders to Bummer « 
the jeweller, for die famous diamond necklace, which he originaUj' » 
intended as a present for Marie Antoinette, though he subsequently i 
resolved to give it to liia low mistress, Du Barry. He died, howeveij '. 
before he completed the bargain for it ; and it is well known thai ' 
it afterwards became one of the most venomous ingredienis wliidl "" 
were mixed together in the infernal cauldron of the revolution. " 

Notwithstanding the impopularity of Marie Antoinette, while '■ 

she was dauphiness, no sooner were she and her royal consort seated ; 

on the throne (May 10, 1774), than the Parisiazis hastened incrowdi ^^. 

to pay the new sovereigns the moKt enthusiastic boinagfs. The ^^ 

charms of the queen fascinated every body, and, for the tirst timt ^.^ 

they touched the bosom of her husband. The marriage vas cat- ',^ 

»jummated ! The particulars oi' the early part of their reign ait \ 

well known. The Princess Lamballe aiiributes many important jj., 

consequences to ihq queen's partiality for the Conntess JuKe P» >[ 

Jiguac, and contends tiiat ber majesty's attachment to that lady vat i; 

violently disapproved, notonly by the old nobility but by the nation >. 

in general. She was to a certain extent c<»re(t in her opining, ^i 

though she seems to have thought more of the matter thanitre^j ^ 

deserved. In truth, the princess was naturidly enough jealous of '' 

" a rival near the throne," and it is not to be wondered at if she * 

enumerates the ascendency enjoyed by the Pohgnacs (a provinciil J 
family newly raised to the nobUity), at court, among llie leading 
causes of the defection both of the old nobility and the people. 

Among the persons about the court, whom the queen most ' 

deeply offended, was the celebrated Cardinal de Rohan. He had i 

been disgraced through the influence of Marie Antoinette, before > 

the accession of Louis XVI, to the throne, and failed in all his sub* < 
sequent attempts to recover the favour of the qUeeh, His last 
eflort for diat purpose made him the dupe of a'younff,' hnt artful 
and necessrtoUB woman, of ihe name of Lamott^, w^o' seems to 
have been tile chief contriver of that abominable pKit of the neck- 
lace. It may be said that the revolution comiweneed*itli tile rta- 
dinnS'a trial feit his connection ■%iv\Y tWv affiait, o¥ irtiJcb we shall 
extract tbe partkulaiB. aa tfaev are iecw;AtB\aM&^ 



hawbalUt Seci^et Memoirs. 319 

* The necklace which has been already spoken of, and which was ori- 
pnally destined by Louis XV. for Maria Antoinette*-had her hand, by 
iirorce, been transferred to hinii bat which, though afterwards intended 
>y liouis XV. for his mistress. Da Barry, nerer came to her in eonae- 
inence of his death — this fatal necklace was still in existence, Bt^d in tha 
>os8ession of the crown jewellers, Bcehmer and Bassange. ' It was yalned 
it eighteen hundred thousand livres. The jewellers had often pressed it 
ipoD the queen, and even the king himself had enforced its acceptance* 
lot the queen dreaded the expense, especially at an epoch of pecuniary^ 
lifficalty in the state, much more than she coveted the jewels, and ani«-' 
ermly and resolutely declined them, although they had* been propoflbd t& 
icr on very easy terms of paymenit, as she really cHd not ¥ke onuntteBtsL ' 

' It was made to appear at the parliamentary investigalfiMv, Cbat IM 
itfid Liamotte had impelled the cardinal to believe, tiial ifalr h B imlt imt 
n communication with the queen ; that she had interested her maf saty fae 
kw<m of thf long slighted cardinal ; that she had fidbrioated a tomm* 
Kmdence, iii which professions of penitence on the part of RoAian ware 
asvered by assurances of forgiveness from the queen. The result of thia 
nrreapondence, was represented to be the engagement of the cardinal to 
legociate the purchase of the necklace, secretly, by a contract. for peri-, 
•dfical payments. To the forgery of papers was added, it was declared, 
he substitution of the queen's person, by dressing up a girl of the palais 
byal to represent her majesty, whom she in some degree resembled, in a 
ecret and rapid interview with Rohan in a dark grove of the gardens of 
renailles, where she was to give the cardinal a rose, in token of her royal 
iqpiobation* and then hastily disappear. The importunity of the jew- 
Uers^ on the ftilure of the stipulated payment, disclosed the plot. A 
irect appeal of theirs to the queen, to save them from ruin, was the 
amnediate aource of detection. The cardinal was arrested, and all the 
•artiea tried. Butihe cardinal was acquitted, and Lamotte and a subor- 
inate agent alone punished. The quack Cagliostro was also in the plot,' 
at he ,too escaped, like his confederate the cardinal, who was made to 
ppear as the dupe of Lamotte. 

' The qnee^. never got over the effect of this affair. Her friends well 
]ie«r the danger of severe measures towards one capable of collecting 
Toand him strong support against a power, already so much weakened 
y faction and discord. But the indignation of conscious innocence in- 
alte4i prevailed, though to its ruin V — Vol i. pp. 285 — 287. 

The prosecution of the cardinal set in array against the queeo 
be first fanulies of. France, with whom he was connected. -•'Hie 
uins lavishiefi.bgr liiem, in order to obtain his acquittal, are almost 
ftcredilple* • fill^QQst the families of Rohan and Conde more than a 
tuflion fff iliyijP^* :I^ order to fix the guilt of the transaction upon* 
lie quiefp, li^f^.Qf the most malignant description were circulated 
brough; I^fan/p^.^d E^ and me acquittal ^ the cardinal gave 
. tnavfft^ t9^^ eiMWift5„the effect of which^ ^ the editor remarks, 
he my^^t^^K^r .jJlrom this time,.(r7&flH^), she: truly observes^ 
ijiu^es ^Q|mj|^f;)rl;w t]:od cl96ely on e^ph othj^r's heels in the hiar 
Qiy of 1^ i^t^ed, qyteen ; and one c^l^auut^ odSl^ d^Y^ge^^^c^v^ 
Hake way for a greater. 



^^^t 



LambaHe's Secret Men 

It i§ unnecessary to refer to the riots cauted by Necker'a dismissal 
from the rainistry, the destruction of the Bastile, the reL-al of ik 
popular minister, the schemes of the Orleans' faction, and the 
crowd of important events which thickened with the progress rf 
the rerolution. We must, however, present the reader with a few 
of tile moat striking scenes which occurred at Versailles. As thej 
are detailed by the Princess Lamballe, they exhibit many striluDg 
circumstances which have been hitherto unknown to tlie historiwi 
of that stormy period. As matters were approaching to a cnofc 
Dumoiuier, who had been leagued with tne Orleans' partj', soj- 
deuly appeared at Versailles in disguise, and had an intf^rview iritli 
the queen in the presence of the princess. He informed her iX 
the plot which was in agitation ft>r proclaiming the Duke rf 
Orleans the constitutional king, and entreating her ma^est^ 
pardon for his coimection with the duke's faction, he declaid 
that he had for ever abandoned it, and olfered his services in ordo 
to save the royal family from the riolence which was ineditattd 
against thein. The queen's recei>lion of this man was perfecfly ^ 
characteristie. ~ 

' She was deaf and inexornble. SIi« treated all he had said as the efft- 
sion of au overlicated imagiiiatwn, and told him she had no faith in traitflti ' 
Dumourier remaiuetl upon his knees while she was re|)lying, as if stupifidl iT 
but at the word traitor, he started, and roused himself; and then, ini L 
state almost of madness, seized the queen's dress, exdainiing, " ABvi , 
yourself to be persuaded before it is too late ! Let not your misguide . 
prejudice against me hurry you to your owu and your children's (le^ttuc , 
tion ; let it not get the better, madam, of your good sense and fejaoa; 
the fatal moment is uear — it is at hand!" Upon this, turning, he^i '" 
dressed himself to me. , " 

' " Oh princess," he cried, "be lie r guardian angel, as you have hil'^tttj '^ 
been her only friend, and use your never-failing inlluence. I t^ke Gtd 
once more to witness, that I am sincere in all I have said ; thnl all \h^i: J* 
disclosed is true. This will be the last time I shall have it iu my.pairq 
to be of any essential service to you, madam, and my suvereigii. Tne ' 
National Assembly will put it out of my power for the future, witboijt b^' ^ 
coming a traitor to my country," ,^^^ * 

' " Rise, sir," said the (]uecu, " and serve yuur country better tittf JT^U ^ 
have served your king!" ., ^ * 

' " Madam, I obey." "' ■ 

' When he was about to leave the room, 1 again, with tears, beaoujW T 
her majesty not to let him depart thus, but to give him some Iiope t^t< ^ 
after reBection, she might {lerhups endeavour to soothe the king's Vljgii !* 
But in vaiu. He withdrew, very much afiecled*. 1 even veatare^, k/H . 
his departure, to intercede for his recall. , .. , 

* ' I saw him as he left the apartment, but had no idea at the time who 
he was. He was a little, thin man. He wore a high, quaker-tike. ro^ 
^iijitched hat. He was covered down to the very shoes by a graat-Mlb 
Tliis, I imngine, was for the sake of d\a%iivBe. \ aviw \a\ii \|^i!t,» limn^kv- 
" ie/co his eyes, I met him some time aStet ftVVoe^ * - -- -- 



La$nbaJh't Secret Memoirs, 3dl 



ff €t 

€ it 



He has pledged himself/' said I, " to save you, madam.*' 
My dear priocess/' replied the qaeeu, " the goodness of your own 
heart will not allow yon to have sinister ideas of others. This man is 
like all of the same stamp. They are all traitors ; and will only harry us 
the sooner, if we suffer ourselves to he deceived by them, to an ignominious 
death! I seek no safety for myself." 

' " But he offered to serve the king, also, madam." 

' " I am not," answered her majesty, " Henrietta of France. I will 
never stoop to ask a pension of the murderers of my husband ; nor will I 
leave the king, my son, or my adopted country, or evier meanly owe ^y 
ezistenoe to wretches, who have destroyed the dignity of the crown, and 
tnmpled under foot the most ancient monarchy in Europe! Under its 
rains they will bury their king and myself. To owe our safety to them 
wtrald be more hateful than any death they can prepare for us." ' — ^Vol if. 
pp. 52 — 55. 

The reception which the queen, almost immediately after this 
icene, gave to the officers of the Flanders regiment, deserves also 
to be noticed as characteristic of her hopes and her purposes at 
that time. 

* 

' While the queen was in this state of agitation, a note was presented 
to me with a Ust of the names of the officers of the Flanders regiment 
reqaeeting the honour of an audience of the queen. 

' The very idea of seeing the Flanders officers flushed her majesty's 
Doantenance with an ecstasy of joy. 

' She said she would retire to compose herself, and receive them in two 
hoars. 

* The queen saw the officers in her private cabinet, asid in my presence. 
rhe^ were presented to' her by me. They told her majesty that, though 
they had changed ni^ir paymaster, they had not changed their allegiance 
to their sovereign or herself, but were ready to defend both with their 
liriaa* T^ey placed one hand on the hilt of their swords, and solemnly 
ifttog the other up to heaven, swore, that the weapons should never be 
viei^led but for the defence of the king and queen, against all foes, whether 
brjStgn Ot domestic. , 

' This ttnezpected joyalty burst on us like the beauteous rainbow after 
i tem'peMl^ by the d^wh of which we are taught to believe the world is 
laved from ^^ secox^d deluge. 

' Tiib douni^uance of her majesty brightened over the gloom which had 
>ppres8ed her, like the heavenly sun dispersing threatening clouds, and 
naking the he^ of the poor mariner bound with joyi Her eyes spoke 
bar^^ime^'S4ln)^ure'. It was evident she felt even . unusu^,! dignity i^ ,tl\e 
jiet ei ilpb of *inj&6e ^o^e hearted warriors, when comparing them with him 
AM aUb lu^ I^^ dismlfised. She graciously cohdesce9(le(l to. $p^]c to 
#^'M2P^9n;li^,' iind one a[nd all were enchanted witli ^^r afibluliiy* . 

' She said she was no longer the que<en who could compensate loyalty 

•iMA^ilUt«UAhi» idtsiided operations in this toyaleause^were^ given tip in 
ssMBfHqe* of <tbe dxa6perati6h he felt kt the dueea*«t^\\<(^iL^^l\^^'«^^* 
iU^^ithtis^hBf'C^ntiBaSd to corres^nd tritte tike ptViic»ti% icit ^ t»tk^- 
imhlB itbt wabgeqtiefailf to this interview.*«-^iVbte by' the Bdltor . 

VOL, II. X 




LambnUe's Secret Memoirs. 

and vulonr : but tlie brave soldier fuuntl his reward in tbe fidelity of his 
service, which formed tho glory uf his iiDmurtulity. She nasarcd them a^ 
had erer been attauhed tu tbe Briiiy> and would make it her study to 
recommend every individual, meriting attention, to the kbg. 
'Loud bunts of re{keatcd acolamatioiis and shouls of 
reine I" instantly followed her remarks. She thanked the oflioers moit > 
graciously ; and fearing to eommit herself, by saying more, took her ' 
attended by me : but immediutcly sent me back, to thank then 
ber name.' — Vol ii. \i]t. 55 — SB- 
Little did the queen foresee the effects of tliis Int^viewa 
alarmed the regitide faction, and greatly accelerated their "T 
sures. The fraternisation of llie Flanders regiment with the J 
guard, and the fatal dinner given by the latter to the forma 
generally supposed to have led directly to the massacres of n; 
and 6th of October. The temporary presence of the king a 
dinner was also a most unfortunate step, taken without thej 
driiberatiun, and, as it now appears, merely to humour t 
ilHsh of the dauphin ! The Princess Lamballe happened to rei 

What a beautiful sight it muat be, to behold, in these troublesone { 
tea, the happy union of such a meetiJig ! " ' 

•'Ittnusl indeed!" replied tlie king; "and the pleasure I fcel io ^ 
lOving it, would be redoubled, had 1 the privilege of enterlaioiug th* ^ 
idera regiment, as the body guards are doing." '-^ 

'Heaven forbid!" cried her majesty; "Heaven forbid, that joU *^ 
inld think of such a thing ! The assembly would never forgive us !" ' 
Afl«r we had dined, the queen sent to tbe Marchioness Tourzel ft' ' 
dnnphin. When he came, the queen told him about her having sew 
the brave officers on their arrival ; and how gaily those good officers M . 
left the palace, declaring Ihey would die rnther than ' suffer any horrt M ." 
come to bim, or his papa and mamma ; and that at that very time tbey wen < - 
all dining at the theatre. ' 

'"Dining in the theatre, mammal said the young prince : "IneVK ■^ 
heard of people dining in alhentrel" "' 

' " No, ray dear child," replied her majesty, "it isnotgenerally allowed; -^ 
but they are doing so, because the body guards are giving a dinner to llii' b 
good Flanders regiment ; and the Flanders regiment are so brave, that tlit ■„,■ 
guards chose the finest place they could think of to entertain them in, W ^ 
show how much they like them : that is the reason why they are dining in _ 
the gay, painted theatre." 

Oh, mamma!" exclaimed the dauphin, whom tbe queen adoredi -_^ 
papa !" cried he, looking at the king, " how i should like to 9« ^ 

s go and satis^ the child," said the king, instantly stMlinf " 
nnp from bis seat. 

' The queen took the dauphin hy the hand, and they proceeded to ttf - 
^theatre. It was all done in a moment. There was no p rem editn lion <«" - 

e part of the king or queen ; no invitation on the part of the officer*'" 

' ■■ 1.59—62. 




Ldmhalk's Secret Memoiri. 323 

The -military, already beated by wine^ were intoxicated with joy. 
The excitement of the scene was indescribable^ but when it was overy 
even the queen felt that such decided marks of enthusiam on the 
part of the two regiments could not be looked upon with indiffer- 
ence by the national assembly. Then followed the scenes of mas* 
sacre ; the tumultuous indignation of the people, who were reduced 
to a state of famine, as they were led to believe by the queen's 
agents, who bought up immense quantities of com and sent it out 
pf the country — ^whereas this measure, deeply contrived for her 
des